Save Point 11

Rosabella

This is probably a big mistake; I realize it once the coolness of the stone hallway hits my face.

Once I'm walking into the prison.

Once it's too late to get out.

Or turn around.

Typical.

...So, I'm facing another dragon... Not a great situation but...

My hand tenses, ready on the sword at my belt—my mother's sword, supposedly. My hand clutches the intricate metal-etched handle. Maybe it'll bring me some luck. The solid, stone walls of the narrow hallway seem to push in on me, constricting my breathing. My darting eyes survey the situation:

Long, stone hall.

Solid, metal door at the end.

No windows.

Barely any light.

Too many shadows.

I swallow all the fear stuffing itself down my throat.

I can do this.

I killed the last dragon. I did it.

I can do this for Dad.

...I hope.

An amused chuckle echoes in my mind. Damn that dragon.

My favorite part is how white all your faces get. Like y'all have seen a damn ghost.

The beast's sneering voice makes me want to be even more sick. I draw out my sword, hearing the swish of the metal against the sheath. The weapon is significantly lighter in my hands than Dormouse's weapon had been. ...Almost like it was made for me... Or, for a woman, at any rate.

I hold it out in front of me, watching the blade tremble in my shaking hands.

I won't show fear, I tell myself, trying to pin myself together like a badly torn quilt. I will be strong.

...But my arm is already weakening, bowing under the pressure of the situation and the weight of the weapon even if it IS lighter...

"Show yourself!" I call, my demand sounding much more confident than I currently feel.

And the dragon chuckles again.

A low, brewing sound.

This one's got a mouth on her, even at the ass-crack of dawn. Interesting. You might just be better than a cup of coffee, small one.

I hear something huge shift nearby.

Is it past that door at the end of the hall?

...Closer?

...Above me?

I crane my neck upwards but only find a stone ceiling there.

Despite my courageous exterior, my insides jump and jitter like a can of worms.

What is this dragon's deal?

"Why don't you come out?" I breathe, running out of breath and nearly steps till the end of the cramped enclosure.

Why don't you come in?

The male voice in my head muses instead.

I grit my teeth as the metal door at the end of the hall creaks open.

...Like the worst invitation ever.

And the dragon is most definitely inside—most definitely. If this is a trap, there's no going back now.

"Fine." I mutter, deciding I only have one choice.

But it's not fine. Because the doorway is dark beyond where I can see—completely shadowed like the raw, tangible uncertainty and fear coiling in my stomach has become a black monster that lurks just behind that doorframe.

...And the thick door.

It must be three or four inches in diameter!

This most certainly is a prison.

But I'm here for a purpose.

I swallow.

And I drive forward.

My boots make a harsh clicking noise on the concrete floor. My nostrils fill with the stink of mold and large reptile.

And I pass the door.

And the doorway.

...And immediately suck my breath in.

The room beyond is enormous. This isn't a prison room; this is a cathedral. Arched, intricately-carved ceilings stretch overhead, made of the same gray stone as the walls. Cathedral windows, lining the far side, open the cave-like quality of the place with the rosy glow of early morning as the sun slips over a pink horizon, making light glint and bounce off the excessive piles of gold coins and jewels pushed up against the walls.

Treasure.

And a mammoth, red dragon squatting among all of it.

...Actually, rolled over comfortably on his belly showing the yellow-tinted scales there—different from the flaming ruby ones on the remainder of him. He scratches at an armpit, barely lifting his huge horsehead to acknowledge my presence.

No offense, but that hallway is a little too cramped. It can't handle all this greatness in one place, you know what I mean?

What he means is that he's large.

Enormous.

The spikes on his back nearly extend to the ceiling. His huge tail wraps around the edge of the wall, where his lounging body doesn't cover, like the thickest Python.

My mouth goes insta-dry.

...Ever seen a dragon before, small one?

"Yes..." I trail out loud, surprising even myself with my emphatic tone.

Well, I know what you're thinking. And, yes, this is the best room in the entire place. Reserved for mwah.

I gape at the beast. ...What are we talking about?

This sword feels like a toothpick in my grasp.

There's no way I can kill this thing. I had a train last time. There's nothing here—nothing here in this enclosed space. He'd back me into a wall...

—Easily catch and eat me for breakfast like a nuisance mouse.

...But, then, how am I supposed to get the magic?

How am I supposed to keep my end of the bargain with the Game Wardens, so I can free Dad?

The Dragon watches my stare flicker to the tip of my sword, which still shakes slightly as I hold it upright.

Ooooh, you really don't want to go that route, pretty.

He tsks.

Imma flambe barbeque you if you try that. And I already had to have a roast this morning. Before you. It's been very busy.

He thumbs a finger at a charcoal-burned human skeleton, dressed in a gray prison uniform, hanging upside down by the ankles in the corner.

I nearly jump out of my skin.

Or pass out.

Or both.

Is the room getting smaller?

Stupid egotistical sons-of-bitches.

He scoffs in my head, shaking his own huge one.

Gotta all get caught up in their theories of escaping. ...Not here, motherfucker.

He spits in the corpse's direction.

And, suddenly, all plans are off the table. What the hell am I going to do?

...So, why the visit?

The dragon's voice chimes in my head with the same inflection someone's aunt might use in finding their granddaughter on the doorstep of their home.

Not like a cold-blooded killer.

But I already have proof of that.

I shuffle my feet on the hard floor wondering what action exactly caused the instant flambe. ...And, more accurately, what I can do to avoid it. "Err, I—"

Cat got your tongue?

The dragon shifts his huge form forward like propping himself up, interested, on two elbows. A thousand razor-sharp blades of his scales scratch across the floor with the movement. His eyes are narrowed, blinking slits.

"I—" I try again, "I'm here to get the magic you stole from the Game Makers." The truth spills out in a disorganized-feeling jumble.

...Now that the words are out, I only want to barf more.

But I can't.

Because my mouth is dry.

And the dragon looks mega-pissed off. I'm beginning to wonder if this whole bargain with the Game Wardens was rigged from the start...

Oh, are you now? And who the hell put you up to that?

The dragon spits, a tiny fireball spiraling out of its nostril.

I jump back so it doesn't hit me, holding up both hands as though in peace and defense at the same time. "I'm a Game Maker," I try to state bluntly.

The dragon snorts like this is a joke.

Yeah, and that corpse right there is currently a thriving tap-dance competitor.

He huffs, unconvinced and jabbing a claw at the very still, very silent, char-roasted dead man in the corner.

Bring up your stats so I can tell your lying ass off.

I gape at the creature, feeling uncertainty drain into my face, "I don't know how."

Here.

A huge talon swipes over my head.

Adrenaline surges through my body. He's trying to kill me? I duck as his claw barley misses my skull—

But he hadn't been aiming for my head, after all.

The dragon pauses, examining the blue box that pops into view from his motion.

More accuracy, he pauses to examine the name there.

Just like I'd thought:

Well shit me a brick!

He exclaims, the shattering force of his surprise nearly decimating my mind and causing me to trip forward.

Sorry.

He amends quickly.

I just...

He looks lost in thought for a minute.

...I knew your mother.

"You did?" It's my turn to be surprised. "What was she like?"

In that second, I've forgotten why I'm here...maybe even THAT I'm here. I've forgotten the sword in my hand and the armor on my arms and legs...and the fact that this dragon is two-stories tall and may potentially grill me to death...literally.

I've forgotten it because, in that moment, I just want to know.

About Mom.

Dad never talks about her—actually, he becomes nearly irate if I ever ask.

And I just want to know...

What she'd been like...

What she'd wore...

What she smelled like...

That last one was weird, and he probably couldn't even describe that to me if he knew. I clear my throat and try to clear my thoughts.

The dragon blinks at me, its eyes lost in a foggy haze of remembrance that translates into vivid words in my head:

Your mother was...extraordinary. Beautiful...kind. She was maybe only the one NOT a complete asshat around here. She'd never even hurt a squirrel. And what she could create...

His eyes glossed further. His voice softening with endearment and wonder.

It was spectacular. Colors...smells...the most beautiful forest and thriving city you've ever seen. Most the like of that's gone to shit with this black magic...

If there was ever going to be a jumping off point, this was it—

I tried to take the elevator ride of it.

Quick.

"That's why," I interrupt—less smoothly than I would have liked—as a scowl creases the dragon's expression, "I need the magic back. I need the creator points to restore your world—"

Ohhhh man. Ohhh man.

The dragon chuckles lengthily.

I stare at him, becoming annoyed and crossing my hands over my chest, "What?"

The girl who got kidnapped outta here is gonna try to come back and save the world? After leaving us in DISASTER for over 10 years. Now, if that isn't complex, I don't know what is—

What was he talking about?

Kidnapped?

I hadn't even been in this world before. I'd been in New York. ...And I hadn't left anything in disaster! None of this had been my fault. Before The Game, I'd just been trying to be a normal teenage girl. He's wrong. He's so wrong about me—

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I start slowly, raising my sword a little higher. Maybe I'm going to have to fight this brute after all.

Don't I, now?

The dragon crows, his huge nose nodding up and down, confidently now.

Dragon's have this thing called prophesy. ...We know shit.

"You didn't even know who I was when I came in here—" I huff, feeling like I have a major point.

It was dark, small one, what do you want me to say?

He counters.

You can stand here all day and deny it, but you are the daughter of Rosabella the Great. Your Dad's death was a terrible tragedy—

That gets me. "My Dad's alive! I'm doing this to save him!" I sputter.

No, dear. Your Dad is dead. Or else, why would you be collecting magic from the dragons?

"Dad's alive," I insist as outrage pumps through my veins, "He's imprisoned here in this prison!"

Now, why would we imprison the greatest Game Maker that ever lived? The man we have locked up in here, who you call Dad, is an imposter—a murderer, a traitor and a—

"This is a trick! You're lying!" I scream.

I can't listen to it anymore. I can't take his erroneous words.

The sneer on his lips.

His know-it-all attitude.

Any of it.

And, before I decide to make a decision, I've made it..

I bring the sword down with a hefty war cry of a swing.

A chop.

Metal slicing through scales and flesh.

Straight through the dragon's claw.

The huge beast bellows in pain.

His head rears.

And he lets out a stream of fire in my direction.

Engulfing.

Hot and sizzling on my face.

I dodge to the side.

I bolt.

Over his thick, swishing tail.

Past razor-sharp talons that reach for me.

Oh, you've done it now, small one!

He roars.

And I have.

I really have.

Because, as I scramble down the nearest stone hallway, I see a locked gate at the end.

I catapult towards it. The bars are freezing on my tugging fingers.

Strong.

Resilient.

The stone walls on either side are solid—damp and craggy to the touch.

And I turn around.

To see the dragon's enormous head filling the opening.

I'm trapped.

I'm so damn trapped.