Volsten reached for his sword. He took his time, afraid that any more than a dead man’s pace would set the creature into a frenzy.

For now, the creature looked…confused? Volsten couldn’t tell. There was a strange red mark on its forehead, between its horns, that glowed intensely. The arm it gnawed was nearly down to the bone.

This docility was a chance. It would be all too easy to slip away now, given that he was right next to the door.

Maren made a strange sound, one that seemed more mournful than fearful.

Shit! Maren! Volsten flicked his eyes towards her. She’d fallen to all fours, her wide-eyed gaze focused on the certain death before them.

Anger flooded him. That stupid wench! Across the room, over a sea of blood and body parts. Had she been closer, this would be a much easier decision.

“Maren!” he whispered.

No response.

“Maren!” he whispered loudly.

Her head snapped towards him.

Volsten motioned with his free hand for her to come. He’d take a trip to the winding tunnels of the Narrows before he came to her.

Maren did little else than stare blankly.

Suit yourself. The offer had been made. If he met Artheon in the after, he’d understand. Volsten pulled the door wider, resettling on the dragon. The creature had finished its…snack, and threw the mostly-fleshless limb to the ground. Whatever ran through its mind, it didn’t seem to care for them beyond a casual look. That would have been reassuring had the evidence of its nature not been readily displayed before them.

A little more, Volsten thought, widening the door with every passing moment. As soon as it was possible, he would be out of it.

But…where would he go, with his bloodied boots, and the most unlikely of all stories? Who would believe him? Those were questions for later. The cool night air brushed against his tunic. He stepped backwards. Once clear of the dragon’s sight, all the trappings of caution would be dropped.

Just before Volsten was clear, just before the door’s frame obscured the dragon from his vision, its face changed, as if someone had turned its mind on, and it remembered that it was a behemoth of teeth and claws. One beat of its wings sent ripples of blood through the pool at its feet and tiny droplets of it through the air. Body parts rolled away from the force.

At first Volsten feared that it meant this display for him, but that was a moment’s terror. No, it looked with bared teeth at the final Birith.

Volsten grabbed at himself, but he broke free from his grasp and was soon splashing and slipping and sliding through blood as he ran towards Maren. The dragon was moving; Volsten could tell by the thud of the floor. He held little doubt that the creature was faster than him, even on foot, but the archway had been far.

Maren made no moves, showed nothing that was less than pure shock on her face as she stared at Volsten's approach.

“Get up, woman!” he shouted as he closed in.

She did this, at least, using the railing next to her as assurance.

Volsten was near upon her. He chanced a look to his left, and his stomach lurched. The dragon was fixated on him.

With his right hand, Volsten grabbed at the hilt of his sword and pulled it free. He spun backwards; the blood made it quite easy, if uncontrolled, and struck out with his arm to give the slash more strength.

His blade found its target and continued onward, but Volsten had no chance to see the fruits of his work. The spin worsened the already shaky footing he ran on and sent him careening into Maren, who yelped with the ferocity of a dying cat as they both slammed into the corner.

He sprung to his feet, pulling Maren along with him. Behind them, the dragon growled. Volsten looked at it, and saw the long, shallow cut he’d made along its stomach.

Barely a scratch, he thought with rising panic. Had he misjudged the angle? He prayed to Inera that was the case, but he knew. From boastful old men in taverns, to whispering church girls, to the oldest knights’ tales-blades alone rarely felled them.

Volsten held his sword with an iron grip. It, and distance, were the only things separating him and the sea of broken bodies that were scattered behind the dragon. Maren’s breath was warm on his neck. To her credit, she didn’t scream or shout at the certain end that faced them.

But the end was waiting. Watching. As if its mind was once again turned dormant.

What do you wait for? Just moments ago, you were ready to kill us. Perhaps the sword had done more damage than he could see, and the beast was rethinking whether or not they were worth it. Regardless, there was no point in wasting another bout of docility.

“Maren,” he whispered. “Do you listen?”

There was no sound, and her hands pressed against his lower back. He didn’t know what that meant, but he took it as a ‘yes’. “We head towards the door. As one. I’ll stay between you and this thing.” Volsten imagined his voice calm, though he could scarcely hear it over his pounding heart. Hopefully it didn’t betray how fearful he was.

Volsten inched left, away from the corner, taking Maren along with him. This was their only means of escape; the dragon stood to their front, and behind them a wall the stairs created as they rose.

Their advance was slow. Every time Volsten thought the dragon to be agitated, he stopped them. He wasn’t sure what caused its last outburst, but he was determined to not trigger it again.

Volsten looked to their left. They were near the end of the stairs, where the wall sloped to nothing and only wooden guardrails remained. A body was at the very end, missing part of its head and much of its stomach. It wore a sheer night gown, white in places, but soaked in blood. Volsten could recognize the face as that of a woman’s, eyes wide and locked in her final gaze of terror. If he could recognize her face, then so could Maren. And they would have to step over her.

Try as he might to contain it, his mind wandered. Who was this, to Maren? A sister? No, her face was older than one would expect of a sibling. This was no servant, either, given the richness of her gown.

The dragon stirred. Volsten squeezed the hilt of his blade, but there was no need. It moved in the same direction as they did, until it stood in front of the opened door.

Is this thing toying with us? Clearly it had no intention of letting them escape, so why did it wait?

“Maren, I need you to speak to me. Is there another way to leave? Another door, perhaps?”

Maren, again, did not answer, and Volsten thought it a great mistake to not have left. With the door blocked, there was little chance for them.

“Window…” Maren whispered, speaking so softly that Volsten doubted his own hearing.

A window? He didn’t see a window. “Where?”

“The…stairs…” she said after an uncomfortably long time.

Volsten dared to look. The stairs led up until they turned into floor and split left and right into darkness that he assumed were halls. The light touched on the wall, but it was just that: a wall, with a large painting that looked to be one of Maren’s grandmothers. What she spoke of had to be yet deeper into the manor.

He turned back to the silent, watching dragon and inhaled pungent air deep. Soon they would be like the corpses that laid next to them.

Volsten stepped to the side of the mangled woman, feeling Maren as she followed. There was no need to step over the corpse now, and he would spare Maren that horror. She shuddered still. She knew.

Stay as you are, Volsten thought to the dragon. They were creeping around the end of the railing now, in such a way that their backs were to the stairs.

“Back, Maren,” he whispered.

He felt her raise up as she took the first step.

They made slow but persistent progress, until they were perhaps halfway.

The dragon came to life.

“Goddess! Run!” Volsten shouted.

The stairs shook as he turned and ran straight into Maren. They both fell, and after trying-unsuccessfully-to stand, Maren kicked her heels off. She made for the top as swiftly as she could, Volsten trailing behind.

Almost, he thought. Maren crested the final step and turned left to darkness. Volsten stepped up behind her, and then flew into the painting in front of him. His forehead hit before anything else, leaving his vision of the world a shaky mess. He pushed away from it, confused for a moment, but realizing that the dragon had pushed him.

When turned back towards the steps, he was met with a moving picture of teeth and wings and scales. Volsten dodged. At least, he wanted to, but his head was swimming. It was more of a scramble to his right. As sloppy a move as it was, it achieved its goal of moving him out of the approaching dragon’s path.

The dragon stopped right before it tore a hole through the painting (Volsten thought it was perfectly capable of tearing through the stone wall behind it as well) and adjusted. Quickly. It was almost unreal how agile a creature of its size could be.

Volsten’s scramble had unbalanced him, and he fell stomach first onto the floor. Well enough, because the wooden rail in front of him splintered and broke. He wasn’t sure what could have possibly caused such destruction until he looked up to see the dragon’s mighty tail snaking its way back behind it.

Volsten looked to the dark hall. He could make out Maren’s terrified stare through the dimness.

What in the Narrows does she wait for? Volsten pulled himself to his feet with the help of his blade, then shot for the hall. Without the need for words, Maren took the lead. There were windows here, giving entrance and view to the Tower’s night flames, but Maren ran past them. Far too small for any person to fit through, even someone as slim as Maren.

Now he was glad that she waited. They tore through the darkened halls, left and right, left again, up yet more stairs. Without her to guide him, he would have been lost, and another body torn to shreds.

And it was ever present, the dragon. Sometimes terrifyingly close, to the point that Volsten thought it trivial for it to grab him. Other times it was distant, as if it slowed itself for some unknowable reason.

Maren brought them around another corner and into a windowless hall. Volsten didn’t much like that. The windows in the other halls were barely above useless, but that was still better than utter darkness. By this time they both took large gulps of air, but Maren was nearly doubled over, and Volsten wondered how much longer she could go on.

They didn’t sprint down this hall, however. As far as he could tell, she fumbled around on the left-side wall. In search of something? He hoped she would find it, and with haste.

A door opened. Volsten followed Maren through it, and then shut it for good measure. The dragon’s last steps were distant, but he had no naïve hope that it would remain that way.

He turned his attention to the room. Maren was on the far side of it, her body pressed against a stained-glass window. The thing was bloody massive, twice his height and width, flanked on each side by smaller ones. It bathed the room in yellows and reds and blues. The largest looked to be a depiction of Inera, her arms outstretched to embrace them.

A shame he would have to break her. He made his way over to Maren. She turned slightly to gaze at him, then, knowing his intent, moved off to the side.

He ran his hands all along it. A glass expert he was not, but it felt sturdy and tough. The pommel of his blade could break it, but it would take a few hits. Volsten gripped the hilt of his blade tight and reared back. The golden pommel smacked the glass with a pang, sending fine cracks through Inera’s divine visage.

An awful cracking echoed behind them. Volsten didn’t look; he knew it was the door breaking open, and that the following slam was it falling uselessly to the floor.

Volsten paid it no mind and struck again with the pommel. More cracks, larger, almost.

The next strike!

Another. The window held.

Now he panicked at the rushing footsteps. There was no choice.

He faced the creature, but there was nary a chance to do anything but move. The dragon’s giant, muscled arm struck between Inera’s window and one of the smaller ones. The house trembled with the force of its hit. Inera, weakened, crumbled into shards that rained down and around the beast.

An unexpected finish to his work, but he was thankful for it. Not that it did him any good now, with the dragon standing in his path. He moved backwards as the dragon located him again. Distance is what he needed. From it, and it from the window.

It moved on him, but its head-long rushes were predictable. For all its strength, it was rather stupid. He stepped right and easily dodged its attack. Blade at the ready, he struck at its sides.

Despite what he’d known, it was rather strange to see a blade as fine as his graze harmlessly off of its scales.

One mighty step, and a twist. Volsten’s side exploded. One moment, he was in the air. The next, he was on the floor.

Goddess! He looked up through pained gasps, clutching at the agony in his side that each one caused. He pushed himself up, still holding tight to his side, leaning against the wall for balance. The dragon laughed as he did so, despite its face being blank. Despite the sound being something that he was sure the creature could not make.

Volsten looked to Maren. She stood outside of the window, staring, mouth slightly apart. But…but she wasn’t laughing. She might as well have been, because Volsten hated her all the same. He hated the way she clung to the edge of the window. He hated the way the Tower’s flaming light framed her body.

He hated how she was on the other side of the window, and he was not.

The laughing ceased. The dragon approached. Volsten wondered how it would choose to kill him. A swipe of its claws would do the trick. Its massive hands could grip and crush his skull. Perhaps the rush of combat had prevented him from appreciating it before, but the dragon was truly large. He barely reached its chest.

Volsten grunted as it took hold of his throat and lifted him high in the air. He waited for the build up of pressure, or the slight twitch that would snap his neck. The creature was taking its sweet time. Volsten lowered his eyes as best he could to look at it. It was hard to read its face, given that they were outside of the Tower’s light, but the feint red glow of the mark upon its head allowed him to see that its slitted eyes were narrowed. Confusion, perhaps? But why would it be confused?

The dragon lurched and turned. Only when he heard the crunching of glass did Volsten realize that it was bringing him to the window. It threw him, and the last thing he saw was Maren’s terrified face.