Far away in a cold, dank dungeon, in the strongest maximum security prison ever built in the land, the light was slowly fading, and the darkness was closing in. The cell was unmarked and no clue as to what it contained could be seen from the outside. It had never been opened for any reason, not even to feed what was held inside. Not even the elite, specially trained guards knew what or who was being held prisoner therein. They had their orders:
"Never open it. Never talk about it. Never leave your post until the end of your shift."
That was all they knew. For more than 3000 years the cell had not shown any signs of life, but the prisoner had started stirring. The guards on duty, however, didn't notice anything. That is until one dreary, midnight shift when something like black ink starting silently oozing out from under the door of the cell, twisting into long strands and coils. The guards didn't even have time to think what to do before they had been bound and gagged by the dark mass of coils that was, by that time already strong enough to break down the magical, solid stone door of the cell, without the need for tools or weapons.
The air was humid and the bricks in the dungeon, slippery. The cell door now lay in a crumpled heap, brushed to one side as if it were nothing more than a bothersome leaf on a clean swept sidewalk. As the younger of the two guards struggled to free himself, the other turned to see the ooze retreating back into the now open cell. His eyes widened as the prisoner bounded over the threshold of the cell, twitched, cocked his head to one side and, in a flutter of black feathers, flew up the spiral staircase, out of the guard's sight and into a freedom he had dreamed of for more than 3000 years.
The evening was still fresh and the air, cool. The moon was rising and the stars were already shedding their light in the hazy night. He felt the rush of the wind against his face and the dizzying sensation of weightlessness that comes with the ability to fly.
He soared for what felt to him like ages, swooping through forests and under clouds, over mountains and between trees. He grinned to himself: he hadn't lost his skill at flying, even after being locked away for 3000 years. This train of thought dampened his spirits, made him angry and scared and sad all at the same time. Slightly confused by all these intense emotions, he landed in a nearby tree, and composed himself. He concentrated, getting his bearings, and started on his plan to get what was his, and have his revenge on those who had treated him so badly that he felt no words could ever describe his anger, frustration and pain.
As the sun was rising above the horizon, heralding the arrival of another day, he went through his plan once more, mentally preparing himself for what he knew he had to do, and what was to come. He had waited so long. Now the wait was over…