The sudden tremor had completely collapsed the exit. Perhaps there was another way back to the surface, but our guide was now gone. With what direction he had given me, I could navigate my way down to the dragon, but even if I killed it, I—we—would be stuck here.

My plan hadn’t taken into account babysitting a grieving boy of ten sun-seasons, either.

And there was still more to consider. The instability of the tunnel, the possibility of more tunnels, how little food I had. Water and air. Even if I could dig a way through the collapsed tunnel, what if it collapsed further? Could I destroy the collapsed portion with flaming arrows, blowing a hole to freedom, or would the smoke choke us out if I failed? What choice did I really have? And what of our guide? Was he still alive, had he found an air pocket in the collapsing section, or was the cave-in not as bad as it looked—

No. Lightly I smacked my cheeks to snap myself out of that delusion. The guide was most likely dead. Thinking otherwise would do no good.

Even in the unlikely possibility that he had survived, it would not help. He wouldn’t be any more capable of digging us to freedom than we were ourselves. Hopefully the man was dead. Being caught in a rockfall like that, in such a tiny and claustrophobic space, incapable of seeing the sky or hearing any sort of wildlife, even the tiniest of ants or crickets or flies…it sounded like Hell.

Even now, I struggled to hide away the building panic in my chest, and instead focus on what was important: the dragon, and escape. Panicking would do nothing to help any of us escape. Actually escaping would. Like it or not, the boy and I were both stuck down here. And I very much did not like it, because the child’s sobbing cries were making it difficult for me to think.

The way I was raised would be to tell the boy the brutal truth. His father was probably dead. If he wanted to follow his family to the grave, he could, but that would shame his ancestors who sacrificed to get him here. He should be quiet, and help me find a way to survive. But though the Angran way had made both me and Kite stronger growing up…now it left a bitter taste in my mouth. Additionally, just telling the boy to shut up likely wouldn’t get results.

But what the Hell do I say instead? What do I say here that makes it better? Elian would know, liars like him always know what to say…even Nania would figure something out… Am I supposed to lie to the boy? But he’d find out, the second we get out—unless the mines become our grave. But that’s…

The boy’s sobs echoed off the cave walls, growing louder. The noise made me wince. I needed to say something, else he’d never move from this spot. Briefly I entertained a world where I told the child that his father was dead, the dragon had killed him, but if he stood up now, we could avenge that death together—but then the boy would just die to the dragon.

“Brat,” I said, trying to get his attention. No reaction, at first, so I cleared my throat and spoke louder. “Hey. Brat.”

The boy sniffled, and looked up at me, his tears reflecting in the light of the lantern. My throat had gone very dry. How honest could I afford to be right now? Carefully, I tasted each word before I spoke it, constantly second-guessing if it was the right thing to tell him. “Things are…very dangerous and confusing right now. We should try finding a way to leave the mines before doing anything else.”

There was an awkward silence. Then, in a tremulous, almost whimpering voice, the boy asked, “Is Daddy…did he…?”

There was no answer to that.

Fortunately, someone else did have an answer. With a great amount of wriggling and squirming, Crim fought his way out from my cloak, shaking his feathers back into order. The bird then waddled over to the boy, crooning in an almost sympathetic manner. The boy reached out his hands, as Crim plopped himself down on his lap. He seemed to mostly calm down, after that, as he snuggled with the phoenix. There was silence between us again, but I couldn’t taste resentment from him in it.

“A…are you a Prince?” the boy asked.

“Do you have a mother?” I asked the boy, lamely. He nodded. “And does she love you?” Another nod, as the boy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Then…she’s probably worried sick. Don’t give her another reason to mourn, just—”

In the dim lantern-light, I saw the boy’s expression shatter further, as he began another round of crying. A part of me wanted to turn to a wall and punch it until I broke out and could see the sky again, and until they brat shut up and all the problems were fixed. Even if it left my fists bloody stumps, I could not die down here where I could not see the sky. But I needed these hands to slay the dragon. There was nothing I could do here, and clearly the boy didn’t want me here either. I stood.

“Sure. Yes. I am a…monster-hunting prince. With my companion, Crim. And I’ll find a way out,” I told the boy and bird curtly before briskly making my leave. As I walked, I began working out my anxieties, undoing, running my fingers across, and retying the silky viridian ribbon Nania had given me nearly half a year ago.

She was clever. They both were. If they were here…but they weren’t, and I couldn’t rely on him anyways, so I’d need to find a way back alone instead. Surely there must be other paths out from this place.

----------------------------------------

We were going to die in these damnable accursed mines.

Above me, there was only the parched and barren ceiling; no twin suns or spiral moons. No stars, no rain, no breeze gusting in off the sea. No cries of birds, no buzz of black flies. Barely even any skittering rodents and lizards.

People called the depths of the earth the beating heart of Crown Naruune, a Gestalt Goddess of Earth and Life, but she was also the goddess who governed death. Souls descended into the earth to rest with her, while their bodies decomposed and became the soil Hallow Zaya was said to farm with. Not a belief the Angra shared, but a very popular one in Gresha City. This cavern was definitely a place for only the dead. Mines were awful and no one should work within them, a cruel and unusual punishment that only the most vile scum could ever deserve. Worse than my time in Gresha’s dungeons—at least that place had not been so maddening with twisting passages.

There was one tunnel down here that vexed me more than any other. It was a narrow one, too narrow to fit through myself, but perhaps the boy was just small enough. Even then, it would still be a tight squeeze.

I could have sworn that I smelled fresh air from beyond it and it was my best hope at an exit to this thrice-damned place. But that was such a slim hope that even I didn’t feel confident sending the boy through the squeeze. Giving him that sort of hope, only to get him stuck with the exit within reach—that would be a wretched fate.

At least my wanderings weren’t completely pointless. I found a good place to set up camp and rest, as well as a surprisingly hot, near-boiling stream of water, trickling down a passageway in a mockingly cheerful manner. That the stream was so hot was both good and bad news: the heat would cleanse it of malevolent spirits that would make us ill, but it also meant the dragon may be near. Just the thought made my fingers twitch near the handles of my daggers. I needed to kill something. During still hours that I thought were night, sometimes I could hear what I thought were the dragon’s rumbling breaths.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Unfortunately, food rations were dwindling, and there was barely anything meaty to hunt down here. The occasional rat or scuttling mole, even the rare insect delicacy; that was all. Occasionally I spotted ants the size of rats down here too. But eventually the rations our guide had packed would run out. Then we’d run out of hunted creatures to eat. And then we’d starve. A pitiful and humiliating end, slowly withering away into nothing, and aware of it all the time. Unacceptable. I would not die like that.

Dying to the dragon would be slightly more tolerable, but even so; I did not want to die where I couldn’t see the sun. And what would happen to a near-immortal bird like Crim? Should I send Crim through the squeeze? Would the bird be smart enough to fetch help?

But when I tried to usher the bird through that tunnel the damned thing refused to leave.

As food dwindled, desperation grew. One night after the boy had fallen asleep after finishing our second-to-last meal, I tried to confront the inevitable: the dragon. It was why I had first come here. Why I had been trapped down here.

If I confronted it, perhaps it would know something useful. Perhaps it would tell us a way out. Or perhaps it would just eat me and be done with it. Should I bring the other two with me? No. That would be…no. But dwindling away in the dark would hardly be a kinder fate.

The truth was that I didn’t know what to do. Before meeting the Fiend, before Elian burned his hand I’d been confident there was no foe I couldn’t best. No monster I couldn’t slay—except maybe my one equal, Elian. But he was…different. Since meeting her, however, since realizing how fruitless my quest against the Sun Fiend seemed, I had clung to anything that might give me hope. But now that purpose that had driven me for so long, none of it seemed possible. Elian’s claims of a plan to kill her couldn’t be real.

There was no way to kill a Dragon, a Fiend, a Crown.

I was afraid of her. And I was afraid of dying down here. But if I had to choose between the two, I’d much rather die fighting her, or die defending someone.

There was no miraculous escape. Throwing myself into the jaws of death seemed stupid, but what else could I do? If all paths lead to death, I wanted to go out fighting.

Sometimes while traveling north, I had wondered if Elian really had had a plan as he claimed, or if it was just another lie. I couldn’t stop wondering again as I walked towards the boiling stream, and the dragon. If they really did have a way to make her bleed, I could certainly use it now.

Despite trying to make him stay behind at the camp, Crim insisted on accompanying me, happily waddling at my side. He was a bird who should have missed the sky more keenly than I did, but Crim seemed surprisingly at home within the cramped caverns. Or perhaps the damn bird was just better at putting on a brave face than I. Pathetic.

When I first left Zaya’s abode, I was still so irritated with my rival. He made me feel so…much, and it was hard to sort through any of it. And if I was to believe what I had felt during our duel, I made him feel a lot, too—but if I couldn’t hope to understand my own feelings, untangling his seemed near impossible. That fear could not have possibly been his, but it could not have been mine, either. Perhaps it was bleedover from Nania?

My feelings for Nania had seemed straightforward enough. I relished her curiosity and ambition, I felt pride at her strength, and I was attracted to her body. Both her energy and her brief moments of rest compelled me, and I wished to see her grow more. I had thought I understood my feelings for Elian: a rival and friend to push me higher. Someone who saw the best in me, even when others couldn’t. Shouldn’t.

How well did I really know him? Had he been afraid all that time? How could he smile so brightly if he was? Or did he just not care at all, and simply want me gone?

The Sun Fiend’s presence had been crushing when I met her, even while I was consumed by rage.

Echoing down the cavern corridor, the growls of the beast grow clearer and more distinct. And as its noises became more concrete, so did my worries and anxieties. There was no smoke in this corridor, but it still choked my lungs. Flickers of firelight hazed on the edges of my vision. Long-buried thoughts crawled from the back of my skull and no armor of rage existed to bury them now. I reached again for my hair ribbon, to tie my hair back again with unsteady hands.

How would El have felt when they first met the Fiend? It was before he had met me, or even Nania. He would have been very young. Perhaps it was before he even began training as a warrior.

Would El have even been able to tell the Fiend no?

Stars above and below.

My legs stopped working. They refused to take another step forward. Here was my escape, and I could not meet it. Giving up here would mean I could not punch and berate Elian, would mean I couldn’t run away with Nania, would mean that boy and Crim stayed forever in this awful tomb. But what else could I do? I had to kill it. I had to kill her. I’d never be at peace if I couldn’t manage that. But Elian had been frightened of her for years, and his plan was utter bullshit.

Crim waddled around my feet chirping in concern but I couldn’t reach down to comfort the bird.

But he lied and went through life with a smile anyways. And somehow it had fooled me.

What if… What would Elian do if he were here? The answer was so obvious, it was as if a stone had struck me in the forehead. He would talk to the dragon. And the dragon would come around to like him.

This dragon would have known the Fiend longer than anyone else, wouldn’t it? It was even said by the Angrans that the Fiend and her Draconic Sons could be seen fighting alongside each other—or fighting each other. Zaya had not known the Fiend’s weaknesses, but perhaps this creature might…and I had the rest of my life to make it talk, didn’t I?

No sooner than this possibility had opened up to me, however, than I realized that it still wouldn’t be easy. Would the dragon even be able to understand me? But no, I had spoken to those without voices before. Hallow Zaya and her rootkin friends, they had taught me.

Crim let out another concerned peep, tilting his head at me worryingly. A small laugh, a mixture of heady adrenaline and relief, slipped out of my mouth. Carefully I crouched down and ran a hand through Crim’s feathers; the bird almost seemed to purr.

“I’m alright now,” I told him. “I figured it out…we can make it out.”

Finally I rose to my feet again. The path to the dragon wasn’t long, as I judged from the volume of its rumbling, baritone breaths. An electric tension hummed through my muscles as I approached, adrenaline coursing through my veins as the imminent battle loomed. Then I rounded the last sharp corner and cold lightning seized my muscles. Attack it, slay it, before it wakes up and notices you, whispered voices in my ear, but I struggled to tamp down the urge and keep myself in place.

Breathing hard. Why was I breathing hard? I forced myself to suck down one deep breath, then another. Finally I beheld the thing before me, as its snoring breaths blasted my body with hot, dry air.

The being was already immense but the dark shadows and cramped caverns only made it seem bigger, as its sharp horns scraped at the low ceiling. Its obsidian-grey scales were dark enough to blend with the shadows, making it difficult to tell where the beast ended and the cavern began. My feeble lantern-light was eaten up by this thing’s harsh, hellish glow—a red-orange glow of fire that oozed from the gaps between its dark scales, like barely-tamed fire peering from beneath oppressive igneous stone. This close, a heavy scent of sulfur and smoke wafted from its nostrils and mouth, adding kindling to the building urge to move within my bones. With a heavy breath, the dragon opened its mouth slightly and that awful glow silhouetted serrated fangs, each longer than the length of my hand.

I took another breath, getting an entire mouthful of the awful stench, and strode forwards, placing one hand upon the dragon’s snout. Remembering my experiences with the rootkin, I forced emotions and thoughts into the dragon’s mind and soul. “I made your mother bleed. I am not afraid of you. Tell me your name.” Careful to keep my own mind and feelings guarded I awaited the dragon’s retort.

Then, the great beast opened one lazy eye. It was a similar burning sort of color to the light that came from the gaps between its scales, and appeared from within its mouth. A serpentine pupil lazily locked onto my small body. The dragon’s mouth came apart again, and it made noise—and though it sounded nothing like the Angran language, I somehow understood it anyway.

“But my, dear brother, it has been a long time.”