Chronicles From the End of an Age

The Dragonslayer and the Fire Queen Pt2: Morality

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"374...375...376..."

The man murmured to himself with each movement, touching his head to his knees before allowing his back to fall to the ground. With each count, he repeated the action, a constant drizzle of numbers that showed no sign of stopping. His abdominals were burning slightly in protest, and small beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his forehead. His hands were drenched from their placement against the back of his head, his fingers curled into the lengthy mess of brown hair that nearly touched his shoulders. Deep breaths fell from his mouth, tickling the long whiskers of an unkept beard, and his eyes were closed in focused meditation, listening to the crackling of a bonfire and the muted conversations nearly drowned out by it.

Much of the brown sand his back fell upon had been worn away by the movements, giving way to dark brown, nearly black, stone. To his right was a plain wooden table and chair with several pieces of some kind of game. To his left was a small bed made of straw, accompanied by a leathery blanket and a pillow of the same substance. Smooth rocky walls surrounded him on all sides except for the front, where glowing steel bars were embedded in the rock and a locked door kept him trapped.

Outside the cell was a large cavern lit up by a central bonfire, with cells in a single line surrounding it. Many of the cells were empty, with none of the ones around him having anyone at all. There were several larger cages on the other side occupied by far bigger occupants, ones with four legs, wings, and glittering red scales. The three guards pacing the prison also were the same species, and the man could feel their piercing yellow eyes pass by him as they did their rounds, their clawed paws digging into the sandy ground with each step.

He wasn't quite sure how long he had been there now. It felt like an eternity, but anything did when the sun wasn't visible. In reality, he reasoned that it had been likely around a year, and it didn't seem he would be let out any time soon. Not that he was surprised. He fully expected that the rest of his life would be spent in the cage, but just in case it didn't, he wanted to be ready for an escape. So, he continued his exercise, breathing the numbers out as he reached the 400 mark.

There was a slight commotion as the guards greeted someone entering the dungeon, but the man paid them no heed, continuing his curls with a slow but strong method. The soft pats of a dragon's paws approached his cage, stopping just outside the bars, accompanied by a presence greater than any bonfire. He ignored the presence for the moment, focusing on the count in his head.

"What are you doing?" the words succeeded in breaking his concentration.

He sighed, laying back against the ground and opening his eyes, seeing the red dragoness on sitting on the other side of the bars. Her red scales glittered with unnatural beauty, with two large leathery wings folded loosely at her side, and a long tail rested against the ground behind her. She sat down on her haunches, holding herself with an air of authority and dangerous elegance.

The man sat back up, before pushing himself to his feet, gently brushing the dirt from his dull brown tunic, "Your majesty. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The man turned his chair to face her before sitting down, studying the dragon with curious eyes. She snorted, the tip of her tail flicking in agitation.

"Dragonslayer," she responded in her own version of a greeting, "You didn't answer my question."

The Dragonslayer shrugged dismissively, "It's an exercise. Designed to strengthen core muscles."