The Dragon was trying to escape.

She had dug more room in her cell, so she was less cramped. The guards didn’t notice when they came to get her—it was too dark for them. It took so long, but she thought that if she could widen the cell, she could tunnel out of it.

But she had reached stone.

After hours and hours of digging, her claws hit solid stone. She couldn’t break it or even put claw marks on it. All she could do was feel disappointed at her inability to break out. Plus, her chains had reached their limit, which she hadn’t even thought about.

She lay down in a curled ball, relieved that her back was no longer scraping the ceiling. Tears ran down her cheeks, no longer glowing with light magic. Her magic came from the sunlight and moonlight, but with no way to reach the surface, she was out completely. She supposed that all her tears had drained her reserves all out, and now there was definitely no way to escape.

“Why am I so stupid?” she cried to the darkness, clawing the walls with her frustration.

“You are,” the voice reached her, punctuated by the usual giggle.

The Dragon glared in its direction. The voice didn’t talk a lot, and when it did, it was to taunt and insult her. She was getting tired of it.

She lay her head in between her claws, sighing. Then she lifted herself into a sitting position—with her head scraping the ceiling—and gazed at the wall, which was covered in doodles and drawings, of one fox in particular.

The Dragon found a small blank section of the stone and began drawing. She had gotten better after much practice, and even though she couldn’t see at all, she could trace the lines to know what she drew.

Stolen story; please report.

She started with the snout, pulled in an adorably fierce expression. The she drew the eyes, full of sorrow and anger and wonder at the same time. The cute little paws, too.

The Dragon closed her eyes momentarily and smiled, remembering the feeling of that fox leaning onto her chest, crying for her family, looking desperately for comfort. The Dragon was glad to give it, and to sing for her. The fox didn’t know it, but that had been the first time the Dragon had sung since being kicked out of her home, and it brought back something that the Dragon didn’t even know was missing.

She finished her drawing with a flourish for the fluffy tail, and then traced the lines, feeling the flying figure now permanently etched on the wall. Longing coursed through her veins, and a single tear fell free from her eye.

“Kira,” she whispered, quiet enough that the voice wouldn’t hear.

Suddenly, blinding light filled Deya’s vision with an image in full color. She gasped and stumbled back, slamming her head into the ceiling by accident and then falling to the ground, gripping her head.

It was Kira herself, only she looked so different. She was twice as big as she had been when Deya had last seen her, and her fur was longer. Her wing feathers looked ruffled and tattered. Old blood stained her paws. But the most defining detail was the scar that now ran down her eye and cheek, making her look so much older. The fierce, sassy look was gone from her eyes, replaced with confidence and so much more sorrow. Deya’s heart lurched with sadness for the poor creature.

She appeared to be talking to a few creatures, and even the way she moved when she communicated was different. Less demanding and whiny, more commanding and strong.

“Whoa,” Deya whispered, grinning. Was this Kira’s future? Or was she looking at the fox now?

She caught the name “Deya” in their muffled conversation and gave a start. Were they talking about her?

Was Kira coming to rescue her?

Excitement bubbled up in her stomach. She wouldn’t have to stay in the darkness for much longer! She could get out of here!

And for the first time in a long while, Deya had hope.