The Misadventures of Darius and Elara

There Be Dragons

Elara stood before the silver box, the glowing lock still pulsing beneath her fingertips. Beside her, Darius scanned the shifting ceiling, where the last of the enchanted feathers had begun to drift downward like falling ash.

Suddenly, a hiss echoed through the chamber, low and sharp; followed by the scent of smoke.

“Elara,” Darius said, drawing his blade, “we’re not alone anymore.”

From the shadows behind the pedestal, something began to emerge[ long, sleek, and coiled. At first, it looked like mist, but the smoke took form. Wings unfolded, vast and leathery, each beat stirring wind through the vault as the creature pulled itself from the dark.

A smoke dragon. Not fully physical, not quite a spirit. Its molten eyes fixed on the two intruders.

Elara stepped back slowly. “Tell me that’s not guarding the box.”

“I think that is the box,” Darius muttered. “Or what was inside it.”

The dragon reared its head, inhaling, and for a heartbeat, all was still.

Then it roared; flames and vapor lashing out in a blazing arc.

“What now?” Elara shouted over the roar.

Darius glanced up. The ceiling, still open from whatever magic the Flamekeeper had left behind, showed a way out; narrow and high. A shaft of daylight cut through the smoke above.

"You're going to hate me," he grabbed her hand. “Hold on.”

“For what exactly?!”

But he was already moving, using a burst of magic to launch them upward. The dragon snarled, wings lashing, but they were faster. As they soared through the smoke, Darius focused on that beam of light and whispered, “Just glide. Let the wind do the rest.”

And for a moment, through fire and feathers, they flew.