The silence of the cave was broken only by the ragged, wet sound of the Dragon's breathing. Amara stood paralyzed at the edge of the central chamber, her phone's flashlight finally flickering once, twice, and then dying completely. The cavern plunged into a terrifying darkness, illuminated only by the faint, sickly pulse of gold radiating from the wound in the Dragon's chest and the clouded, silver glow of his massive eye.
He didn't roar. He didn't move to strike. He simply watched her, his head resting heavily on one obsidian-scaled claw. The air around him was thick with a sweltering, feverish heat, a physical manifestation of the agony he was enduring.
"Mr. Dravik," Amara whispered, her voice cracking as she took a tentative step forward into the dark. Her bare feet moved over the cold, jagged shale, but she didn't feel the sharp edges. All she felt was the crushing weight of the realization that this was the man who had held her so gently only two nights ago.
