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.
I was alive and imprisoned because I refused to kill again, to take another's life so callously and unthinkingly – to enjoy the kill as lifeblood left an opponent's body. I would not do so again. I was not going to give myself over to the thrill of the fight and bloodthirstiness that came with it.
The other dragon snarled and charged towards me. I darted sideways and skidded to a halt on the other side of the arena, spinning around and turning with wide eyes to face the mud-crusted dragon. They were clearly angry and hateful – which I understood and deserved – but then they paused, eyes narrowing in my direction. My first thought was that the other dragon was now dangerous, which wasn't quite right as they had been dangerous before. If they were thinking, though, that meant that this wasn't going to be a simple rush-and-keep-defending fight where I would be able to eventually tire the other dragon out. No, this dragon was fighting.
Why would the dragon now think? Especially as they initially had charged without a plan. It's possible that they had realised who they were fighting, but in that case it meant that they were someone who had previously seen me either before they were captured or I had fought against them before. There was something personal in this.
I grimaced as I dodged a blow, barely escaping unharmed. I didn't want to kill, didn't want to strike out to harm, but I didn't want to die either...
I shook my head with growl and leapt into the air, using three wingbeats to get myself away from the angry dragon. I was selfish for wanting to live. Selfish, I told myself as I yet again dodged away from the other dragon. Selfish and cowardly for not wanting to face whatever came after life. What if this is what fate wants for me? What if this is my destiny – to die here?
I was late to move out of the way and I hissed as claws raked down my hind leg. The other dragon roared in response, clearly thinking they're more powerful, more worthy, and I growled in response, claws digging into the ground and- No, I refuse.
The other dragon slammed into me, forcing me a few paces. I reared up onto my hind legs to use my strength to push the other dragon down and back to make them cower, to tear my teeth into-
To make them calm down. To give myself space.
Claws struck, lightning fast, down my neck and then the other dragon was moving away. My breath was coming in gasps and my muscles were bunched. I wasn't exhausted nor out of breath, but I couldn't seem to breathe properly. I wasn't scared. I've felt fear and terror before – I knew the difference. This wasn't that.
I lifted my head – and when had I dropped my gaze to the ground? – and looked, really looked, at the other dragon. I didn't know what I was searching for, but I locked eyes with the other dragon. They were beyond terrified, angry and fuelled by rage. They hated me, I knew it, could see it. They were...
Insane.
The dragon was clearly ignoring their injuries, hadn't seemed to even notice them. They didn't care for anything but killing me. Even as I thought, the other dragon charged towards me.
They couldn't live on like this.
I swung out with my tail, hitting the other dragon hard and following up by trying to cut their shoulder with my claws.
But I couldn't kill.
The other dragon screamed, high-pitched and loud. I recoiled back and without thinking of the danger they were placing their self in, the other dragon rammed me.
But maybe it was crueller to let them live.
I bit down with my teeth and blood flooded my mouth. The other dragon slammed their head back into mine, and I staggered back a few paces.
They weren't really living a life without their rider. They weren't managing the changing of two minds returning to one.
The other dragon charged at me, but easily avoided my first attack. They had fought me before, and was showing some familiarity with my style of fighting.
They needed death, craved it almost, but they wouldn't thank me for this.
I needed to not fight as I normally did. I leapt up, rising into the air, mud cracking on my wings and dirt falling onto the other dragon.
This needed to end.
I roared. This was my challenge. This was my duty to help those who needed it... in whatever way I could.
The other dragon matched me blow for blow, easily, and I decided I was correct – this dragon knew my fighting style and knew it well. They had taken to the air, and I was hard pressed to keep the other dragon from landing any devastating blows.
It didn't take me long to realise that I wasn't winning. It wasn't like I was losing either, but at this rate I was going to lose. Simply because the other dragon didn't appear to care about their pain or their injuries. They had nothing to lose. I, on the other hand... I was still fighting.
I felt fire crackle to the surface, pulling itself through my skins and bones. I opened my mouth and let it out, sending a stream towards the other dragon as I rose higher in the air. The thrill of the fight and what it meant threatened to overwhelm me, but – unlike normal – I couldn't afford to give myself over into bloodthirstiness. I couldn't fight normally, even if it meant that I would fight worse than I normally did.
I dropped. The other dragon and I crashed in mid-air, turning into a mass of scrabbling claws and attempted death blows. Fire crackled beneath my skin, ensnaring me with warmth and pushing me onwards. We hit the ground hard, the other dragon rolled away, and I jerked to my paws and charged towards the other dragon. My teeth gripped the other dragon's throat, even as they jerked away, leaving blood in my mouth and red furrows on their neck.
I called on my wings again and rose into the air. The air moved beneath my wings, lax, dry, dead. Fire continued to crackle. In the air, wings flared, I let the fire burn. The other dragon roared and snarled and leapt towards me, heedless of the fire that wasn't orange-yellow but gold with flecks of green on the edges.
Dragons weren't fireproof but they're highly fire resistant. It all depends on where the fire hits them, how hot it is, and whether the dragon is trying to stop the fire or not. This dragon wasn't.
As my only power was that of my flames, it had always burned hot and I had learnt to control it. My anger was hot and my fire was hotter. The dragon died in flames – fitting, perhaps, but sad. A skeleton remained, blackened flesh still clinging to the bones. I turned my face away. I felt sick.
A mind dived into mine, breaking through mental shields – that weren't great and never had been – with ease. Congratulations, the voice told me, tauntingly, hauntingly. I swung my head into the air, eyes seeking for the one responsible. I met his gaze and he smiled sweetly. I was angry. I was fuming. I was livid. I was- terrified as darkness took over my vision and my body slumped onto the ground.
***
I was in darkness once more. I had no reason to fear the blackness. After all, anyone coming would be heard first. It was a companion, and I guessed that it was going to be a constant one. I stretched my wings, growling softly when I realised that I had been chained. Again.
I felt the fire building within me, and I let it fade as I knew that it would be useless against the chains. The thought of the chains reminded me of the fight I had fought. It was clear that if I was going to fight again – and I assumed I was going to – I would need a new fighting style. I would need to think. I would fight with fire and flight and thought.
It was silent. I froze upon realising that. My mind shouldn't have been silent, not with what I had done. Instead my thoughts were silent, barely noticeable beneath the surface of my mind. It sickened me because it felt like I didn't care how easily I had taken someone's life, how little care I had. Was this not something I had promised to never do again? Who could trust me if I could not even follow my own promises?
Footsteps echoed.
I stood. I was unwilling to be held here and spoken to while I was lying down. Maybe lying down would show how much I didn't care, but it might convey that I had given up. Standing would make me taller than the human who was coming. It would give me strength and would – hopefully – intimidated whoever was coming.
A pale face stood out in the darkness, white skin and pale eyes with shadowed features and grim lines. I charged forward, jerking to a halt when the chains drew taunt. I bared my teeth and snarled. I could feel the fear hidden in my mind, trying to control me, but I could not be scared – could not show that fear. It was a weakness. I couldn't have weaknesses, not here and not against this opponent.
The boy – fourteen years old and already deadly, already a killer – looked down at his nails, not seeming to care for my show. I snarled once again, pulling the chains, knowing it was futile but trying anyway to strike at the boy.
"What, not happy to see me? One would've thought you would be proud of your achievement back in the arena. The audience was certainly capitated."
Words whirled in my mind but trapped and chained, I was unable to speak. I bared my teeth and snarled – it was all I could do.
"You always were good at putting on a show," the boy eventually said as the silence stretched between us. I roared at him. He left, but didn't leave silently.
"This story could've ended differently, Thirak. You have no one to blame but yourself."
Filled with hate and guilt and self-loathing and staring at the back of my rider as he strode away, leaving me in the dark and chained, I found it very, very difficult to blame anyone else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh Thirak, you poor dragon... this isn't as bad as others have faced due to you and Mark. Do you really have anything to complain about?
I have to say, I got stuck somewhere in this chapter, so I was like: alright, I'll end the fight. And then - because I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo - I needed a few hundred more words... and then we got the end scene. I was planning on having more anger, more hate, more turmoil, but Mark doesn't care. He literally just showed up and left without my will.
Of course, I'm of the belief that Mark has bigger plans, but I don't know what they are. Thirak hasn't thought about any of this, but his head doesn't really allow himself to think much else except of what he promises himself - like not killing anyone! He's off to a great start. :D
Don't believe me when I said this was going to be dark? Because, this is kinda just the beginning.
I hope everyone is seeing that his thoughts - his actions and his emotions as well - are vastly different to Rya. The writing style is different, but not overly, just how he thinks mainly, how it flows. I didn't mean to do this originally, but it works because it highlights how Thirak and Rya are differently - and they so are.
Oh, what happened to Rya? Well... That's a story for another time.
Edited: 27/01/2021