Glavas pushed a snapped-off wooden beam off his chest. A loud groan escaped his lips as he felt almost every muscle ache. The landing was not the smoothest one. His eyes briefly shifted from the hole in the roof, through which he fell, onto the pile of hay underneath him. Thankfully, the dwarves had a barn inside the mountain as well. Otherwise, his landing would've been much more uncomfortable. For that split second, he thought he would prefer to lie down and simply stay there resting, however, that was simply not an option. As soon as his mind reminded him of the faces of his children, he sprung back to his feet at a moment's notice.

As he walked outside the barn he snapped open the middle section of his gun and looked at the crystal sitting inside. Its faint red glow was illuminating his hands on the dimly lit streets. For a moment, the thought of swapping it for one of a different element crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed the idea. There was no denying that the element of fire would be the deadliest and most destructive of them all. Should he run into an enemy, he would prefer to go in for a quick kill, rather than to drag the fight out.

While wandering the streets, looking for any signs of survivors, Glavas had to constantly stay on his guard from the occasional falling rubble. The explosion from earlier shook the whole mountain, not to mention that the flaming projectiles he fired to slow down his flight had most likely further destabilised the walls of the cave. More than once did rocks come crashing down next to him, breaking down the nearby buildings. As the destruction continued, he picked up the pace. The idea that his child might be somewhere out there, lying crushed under the rubble, filled his mind with the darkest of thoughts.

"No, that's not real. That's the magic talking. You have no proof of what happened to them. They can also be completely fine. Ruun would not dare to hurt them," he told himself in his mind. In the heat of battle and the stress it brought, the lines between realistic worries and those caused by the dark magic became increasingly blurrier with each passing moment.

Suddenly, Glavas stopped. His left eye saw something in the very corner of his vision. A person. Small, cyan in colour, and coming right towards him.

"Dad!" the little creature called out and came running up to the hunter.

Glavas could not believe his eyes. It was Surdi, in the flesh, right there and then. Hope soaked into his heart no matter how much he tried to not allow it to.

"Surdi..." Glavas muttered and his hand reached for his hip. "That is foul."

His finger squeezed the trigger in the raised firearm. A wave of fire flew across the street, finding its way onto the chest of the young dragon. As soon as the noise from the gunshot quieted down, even in the most distant of echos, it got replaced by the loudest of screams. The young dragon was squirming on the ground, holding his arms wrapped around the massive burn mark on his chest. Only from time to time were his cries replaced by coughing as blood rushed into his mouth.

Glavas approached, slowly and calmly, and kneeled beside the dragon.

"W-Why...? Help me! Please!" he pleaded.

"Nice try," Glavas said, his voice stoic as ever. "Surdi's horns are a different shade of yellow. Yours are sand-like, while his are more towards the bone colour. Also, the scar on Surdi's leg ends somewhere between his big and middle toe, while yours stops about in the middle of the foot. He has three scars on his left hand, not four, and you made the nostrils too big. Besides, he doesn't call me 'dad'."

"I... I don't want to die."

"Yeah, I'm sure you don't. Guess you have a bad day. Do me a favour though and take that ridiculous disguise off. I wanna hear you scream and don't want to look at the face of my son while you do so."

"I-I can't! Not... Ugh... Not my disguise."

"Hmm. Guess you are lucky then. It won't hurt you so bad after all." Glavas closed his eyes before placing the barrel of his gun against the disguised man's head and pulling the trigger. As imprecise as the illusion was, it still reminded the hunter of his son. Watching his head splattered against the floor was something he did not wish to see.

Surdi kept on pacing around his cell. He knew that help had come the moment the cave began shaking, but seeing the two that were guarding him suddenly leave filled him with a certain sense of unease. Would Glavas manage to rescue him? Will everything be fine again? The doubts on his mind were simply not giving him a moment of rest.

For a moment, his eyes rested on the door to his cell. It was wooden, but reinforced with enough metal to make it withstand even a small explosion. There were no windows in there and so the only way out would be through this seemingly impenetrable barrier. With the guards gone, he knew that he could do a lot more than before and so he approached the locked door and inspected it more closely. Out of desperation, he backed away a little and delivered a swift kick to it, however, the only effect it had was giving him mild pain in his knee.

"No, that was stupid!" he criticized his own idea. However, he then noticed that his claws seemed to have left a mark on the door as he kicked it. That gave him an idea. He quickly walked closer and tested if the claws on his hands can have the same effect. Fortunately, it seemed so.

The surface of the door was uneven. The individual planks had tiny gaps between them, and the metal rails nailed to them further reduced the potential carving space. However, the side of the available area didn't matter. If Surdi couldn't make one big bomb, then he was determined to substitute that with countless small ones.

Without a moment to waste, he got to carving. Drawing large magical circles was easy, but the smaller they were, the more precision and focus they required. Some of the circles were perfect and the symbols flawless, while others would not work even with all the possible benevolence of the goddess of magic. And it was known that she was not very benevolent.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, during which the young dragon felt the ground around him shake and tremble countless times, he at last managed to cover almost the entire surface of the door in tiny magical circles. He looked down at his hands. His claws were all mostly dulled, chipped, or broken. The carpentry work really seemed to have taken its toll on him. Nevertheless, it was done, and now all that was left was to set it off.

The young dragon backed away from the door as far as he could, sitting down at the far end of the room, pressing his back against the wall. His arms covered his face and his knees were pressed against his chest, shielding the vital organs. He had no idea how strong the explosion would be. With big circles, he at least had some experience he could base his guess on. Back then, however, he had no idea how would the small ones work. As far as he knew, he could've made a bomb that would tear him to pieces as well.

As he sat there, gathering courage, his eyes slid onto the massive pink scar on his leg, starting from around his knee and travelling all the way to the bottom of his foot. He gently slid his fingers around it, feeling the seared scales. They would never regrow back the same way. Part of his leg would always look like it got melted and cooled down again. Not to mention the slightly increased sensitivity to touch. He recalled how he got it - the explosion when he faced Peldo's men. Back then, the pain was immense and if it wasn't for Glavas' quick intervention, who knows if he would've even survived.

He rolled up his sleeves and had a proper look at the countless other scars that decorated his arms, as well as some of those on his other leg. Each one was a memory. A memory of an adventure with Alma. The longer he spent thinking about it, the more it seemed that they followed a pattern. Alma would get into trouble, he would try his best to come along and help her, someone would attack them for whatever reason, and he would go to crazy lengths to protect her. Eventually, his attempts would get him hurt, resulting in new scars. He had always seen them as something to be proud of. Medals of honour that showed his experience in life and battle. However, when he was now thinking about it, they were the exact opposite.

Several weeks ago, he and Glavas sat on the edge of a lake, looking at stars, while Alma slept peacefully by the campfire. It was on that night when Glavas showed Surdi all the scars he had collected during his hunts. The way they compared their experiences was something that Surdi had considered they had in common. However, in retrospect, that couldn't have been further from the truth. Glavas spoke of each scar as a mistake. While Surdi showed off triumphs, his father displayed lessons. To the dragon, each mark on his body meant a victory. To Glavas, they were things never to be repeated again. After all, a good hunter shows off their scars. The best hunter has none to show.

Surdi sighed. His plan would most likely result in an injury. Although his freedom would be obtained, he had no idea how effective he would be in helping to set his sister free as well. No, simply blowing up the door and hoping for the best was not an option. He had to do something else. Something that would guarantee his safety. The finger on his left hand pointed at the door. He closed his eyes. It would not just be one spell anymore, but two. Two different ones would have to be done in rapid succession. He had no idea whether or not he'd have enough mana, but he had to try.

Surdi closed his eyes and focused, shutting out every feeling that wasn't useful to him. He felt the air flowing around him, gently guiding mana into his body. He felt the vibrating ground under his feet as it did the same and shared whatever magic it could spare. He remembered Skinscale. How he stood at the broken wall. How the wind felt against his scales. That was precisely what he was after.

He took a deep breath. With a quick spit and a silent incantation of fire, he fired off a burning projectile to ignite the symbols on the door. Then, before the explosion occurred, he focused on his lungs, filled to the brim, and exhaled with as much power as he could muster.

The explosion shook the entire building and the flames danced around him, only repelled by the wind magic leaving his mouth. It may have not been his innate element, but neither was metal, yet he still managed to create his own sword. Air was nothing but a bunch of gasses smacked together, and with this particular state of matter, he had some practice.

As the flames finally disappeared, Surdi fell to his knees, catching his breath. The wall in front of him was all gone, the door lying bent and battered on the other side of the street. And there, under all that rubble, lay a body. Small and familiar, with skin black as ebony and hair shorter than freshly cut grass.

Surdi ran out of the cell, immediately kneeling over the corpse. He checked the pulse, just to be sure, but the blood that covered her body, and the face smashed almost beyond recognition, were already telltale signs of her demise.

The young dragon's eyes flooded with tears as he cried his sister's name so loudly that almost the entire mountain could hear it. But the shock of the sight completely blinded his judgement. He did not notice that her wounds had been obtained by more than just rubble, nor did he notice his own father, calling to him from the corner of the street.

"It's not her! It's a pathetic disguise!" Glavas yelled but soon realised his voice wouldn't help him.

The timing couldn't have been worse. Yurna had panicked and decided that perhaps the dragon could be used as a hostage, so she returned to the cell. There, however, she ran into Glavas. Unlike her companion, she managed to stay alive a bit longer, avoiding direct hits from the firearm and receiving only a couple of deeper cuts from the hunter's sword. However, her fate was sealed when the wall of the cell suddenly exploded, sending immense force, fire, and rubble to crush her.

Glavas ran up to the crying dragon as quickly as he could and gently placed his hand on Surdi's shoulder. "Surdi..." he managed to say before claws dug deep into his flesh. If it wasn't for his quick reflexes, the dragon would've easily taken his arm off.

"It's me, Surdi, it's... me..."

Glavas had not felt fear for a long time. He felt despair, worry, and fury. All those emotions were swelling up inside him ever since his children were taken from him. But as he stood there now, he once again understood what it truly meant to be afraid.

The dragon youngling turned to him, his pupils narrow and eyes coloured with swirling shades of yellow. He went down on all four and growled at the hunter like a rabid animal. A mist of toxic green slipped through the corners of his slightly open mouth and wrapped around his body like a protective cloak.

Glavas' hands were shaking. Elves were often overcome by their magic, which influenced their emotions. Dragons, however, were the exact opposite. Their emotions directly controlled their magic. The most terrifying emotion, as many historical events had shown, was anger. Under its sway, a dragon would easily lose themselves, turning into nothing more than a raging animal of immense power. Almost everyone in Ezma knew, that it was wise to fear a dragon's wrath.