A Dragon's Redemption [Book 2 in Rising Dragons]

Chapter IV: First Fight

Something was amiss. I knew that the moment I woke up. But what? I didn't know and that worried me. I shifted, chains clanking. It was still dark in my prison. That said, I could make out shapes in the darkness.

The injuries from my fight had all healed. The fight had to be important though – as the other dragon had already been injured. Something was in planning and I was entrapped in its folds, not knowing what was to come. The fight had been referred to as 'training', but for what? For what reason could there be to have two dragons brutally fight one another? It was troubling.

I tried my best to hear something that wasn't meant to be there. Something unnatural. I chuckled, humourless, and wondered what was natural any more. The chains seemed looser than before, so I stood up and regained feeling in my legs.

Something was off.

I shifted my weight, finally hearing a scraping on the edge of my hearing. It was at that moment that I realised I was moving, or – at least – the floor beneath me was moving. Even as I realised that, light landed on the ground from above. I shut my eyes against it and – after a moment – looked around with unblinded eyes. The light was coming from above where the ceiling had parted. I growled; I knew where I was.

It's easy. So, so easy to forget. Surrounded by cold bricks of grey stone and darkness, embraced by chains of ice and hatred. Living alone and imprisoned, hearing those in pain and knowing that their blood falls on uncaring ground. It's because of everything that I find it easy to forget – to forget why there's a point in trying. The guilt I carry – and I deserve this; I know that – is heavy. Heavier still for what my actions caused. It's easy to forget, to fall into that guilt, to let it fill me and take me.

Chains fall to the ground.

It is not in my nature to give up, to give in, to stop fighting. Nonetheless, I am hard pressed to continue, to not simply follow orders because it is so, so easy to not feel, to not have emotions; to be an object that doesn't care, doesn't feel. I can't do that though.

I stand still.

I can't simply stop. That would make me worse than what I was and what I am. Fate has plans for me – I'm sure of it. I will wait for what's in store, for what will come. I will go with it for it will be what I deserve. Fate has foretold it.

I move forward.

It's hard to keep going, but I will do it. This is what I deserve. This is my fight.

Paw in front of paw, dust and blood covered ground beneath my claws. I circled the arena, comparing it to the one I had been in before with-

I cut myself off and continued circling.

The arena was bigger and the chains that enclosed the cage lifted up enough that there was space to fly. A snarl fixed itself on my face when I realised that I was being watched. I could see people – humans – murmuring to one another around the top of the prison, sitting in seats and looking as happy as can be. I couldn't hear anything but anger built itself in my bones, yet I refused to rage and growl at them. I would not even glance at them.

I compared the height of the arena on reflex, noting how high I would be able to go and how many wingbeats it would take me to get there. I considered the width of the arena, before deciding that there was enough space that I could circle it while flying.

I stepped in something wet and kept walking. Blood gripped to my paw, accusing. I felt like laughing. How ironic it was that, without fighting, blood already stained my paws. Fitting for one such as me.

In the middle of the massive arena – a fighting cage, a show, a demonstration of the captured slaves – two stones lifted and shifted until they were vertical. A dragon bounded out of the gap, not even waiting for the stone floor to rise fully. The stones fell down. The noise was loud and echoed in my ears. I could fight, and fight well, but this? This I refused to do.