Chapter 38

She Who Can't be Held

Perhaps it was that the Ancestors were on her side. Or maybe she really was as lucky as the Zodiac suggested. But, whatever the case, Charla's chance to get her paws on a key to the archives came around sooner than she'd expected.

It had only been a week or so since the fight she'd had with Lance. As usual, Charla headed to the library in search of Chelcie—though perhaps a bit later than normal, since Madame Orinthe had been breathing down her neck to finish her all-but-forgotten homework. It wasn't like she'd been neglecting it on purpose or anything. The day after the trip to the bathhouse, she'd come down with the winter illness that had been creeping through the orphanage, and had spent two miserable days sneezing fire and coughing up smoke. Homework had been the last thing on her mind.

She was feeling better now, though—and more anxious than ever to find a way out of Warfang. So, off to the library she went.

When she arrived sometime after midday, she found Chelcie at the service desk. Charla didn't notice anything unusual until she went up to the counter.

"Charla, hi!" Chelcie beamed, leaning over the desk. "I thought you'd drop by! Guess what?"

Charla said nothing. She was too busy goggling at the key hung around Chelcie's slender blue neck.

Chelcie seemed to notice. She looked down at herself and said, "Neat, isn't it?"

"They let you have one?" Charla blurted out, wide-eyed.

Chelcie looked back at her, grinning. "Yep. It's only for today, though. Solaea's off sick and apparently she recommended me to fill in for her. I can't believe the head librarian actually agreed. She says I've been doing such a good job that she'll trust me to carry the archives key for a day! How cool is it?"

"It's...cool," Charla stammered, hardly daring to believe her luck. Here was a key to the archives right in front of her face—around the neck of her closest friend. She could have just reached out and touched it. Freedom was only a paw-length away. Well, kind of.

"Of course, that means I gotta do all of Solaea's duties today," Chelcie added, with a little less enthusiasm, "so I'm gonna be pretty busy. What are you gonna do?"

Try to convince you to give me that key, Charla thought, her mind whirring. But all that came out of her mouth was, "I dunno. I'll find something."

"Well, I've got a break in half an hour, so you came at the right time. Stick around and I'll come find you then?"

Charla nodded quickly but was then forced to step aside, as a line of dragons had started to form behind her—all wanting to borrow books or ask for help. Chelcie gave her a merry wave before she turned to the first customer. Without much else to do, Charla wandered off towards the fiction section.

She meandered down the aisles for a time, half-heartedly looking at books that seemed interesting. All the while, the key to the archives turned around and around inside her head. It had never been this close to her. Sure, she'd seen Solaea wearing it, but this was Chelcie.

Surely, somehow, that would make a difference. Whatever the case, she couldn't let this opportunity pass.

It quickly became apparent, however, that getting the key away from Chelcie would be extremely difficult. While Chelcie was on break, the two of them sat in the lounging area and chatted. Charla hardly heard Chelcie's recounting of what her uncle Teslan was doing now—something about joining the Elders' Council, whatever that was. She was too busy staring at the key and trying to figure out how to get it.

The hardest part was that she had to get it and keep it without Chelcie knowing she had it—preferably without Chelcie missing it at all. But that seemed nigh on impossible. And Charla was pretty sure she couldn't just ask for it. If Chelcie knew what she planned to do with it... Well, she'd probably react as badly as Lance.

"You okay?" Chelcie asked after a while. "You seem kind of distracted."

"Huh?" Charla blinked quickly and tore her eyes from the key, her cheeks warming. She couldn't get caught doing that. It was too suspicious. "Oh... Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking about...things."

Before Chelcie could say anything, Charla wracked her brains for a change of subject and blurted out, "Have you found your mum and brother yet?"

Chelcie looked a little bit startled. A few days ago, she'd admitted to Charla that she and Teslan were searching for her mother—Teslan's younger sister—and her little brother. They'd been separated in the attack on Talon's Nook, and Chelcie had been convinced they were already in Warfang. So far, however, there had been no sign of them.

"Oh... No," Chelcie mumbled, her shoulders falling a bit. "The Immigration Department is still searching their records. They're really busy at the moment, what with all the refugees coming in—though there's been a bit of a lull now, with the siege and all. But I'm sure we'll find them if they're in Warfang..."

She trailed off, her gaze falling to her paws, and Charla cursed herself for asking. Why couldn't she have thought of a nicer change of subject?

"Anyway," Chelcie said abruptly, lifting her head, "I was thinking you, me and Lance could go out somewhere tomorrow. You've got classes, right? So we can go out in your break. I've been wanting to check out the first district markets—I've got a few gems to spare, and Lance should be getting at least a little bit with his apprenticeship, so we'll have something to spend. What do you think?"

Charla blinked slowly, feeling like she was trying to pull her thoughts out of muddy water. Tomorrow. If she got the key to the archives today, would she be here tomorrow? She didn't know.

"Y-yeah," she said anyway, "that sounds good."

Chelcie smiled, and Charla felt like a rock had dropped heavily into her stomach. She did her best to smile back.

Shortly afterwards, Chelcie was forced to get back to work, and Charla wandered the library wondering what to do. At every chance she got, she tailed Chelcie wherever she went, hoping to somehow get her paws on that key. It was hopeless, though. Chelcie never needed to use it, and it stayed securely hung around her neck, so close yet so far. Charla thought she was going to lose her mind.

She had to get that key. She couldn't get out of the city without it. And staying in Warfang was not an option.

Soon enough, while Chelcie was busy with a customer, Charla's restless paws carried her back to the geography section yet again. She quickly found Terranos' Atlas of the Dragon Realms, familiar to her now. She couldn't count how many times she'd come into this aisle and flicked through this atlas. Just the sight of the map, of the tiny inked image of the Well of Souls, was calming to her fretful mind.

She rested her paw on the coarse parchment. By now, she'd made her decision. She would make the detour to Pyreflight. The voice had come to her several more times in the last few days—in her dreams, in wakefulness, whenever she felt the wind on her face. It called to her always in the same words.

Charla...

Pyreflight...

Please, help...

And though that was all it ever said, Charla was sure there was more to it—as though the rest of the words had gotten lost somewhere in the wind, and that was all that had reached her. Whatever the case, it was enough to sway her decision.

She had to know what was calling her. She had to at least try to find out. And so, she would go to Pyreflight, even if it took her longer to reach the Well of Souls. She hoped it would be worth it.

Charla blinked the fuzziness from her eyes. The blurring map swam back into view and she stared at it for a long time, her mind turning. Once she left, she wouldn't be able to look at it any longer.

What if she got lost? What if she needed it while she was out there in the wilds?

What if...

She traced a claw over the parchment. She could take it with her, couldn't she? Then she'd never get lost again. But the book was much too big to fit in her satchel and she couldn't carry it with her the whole way.

So...

Charla hesitated, flicking her tail. It was a terrible thing to do. And yet... She looked both ways down the aisle. It was empty, except for her, and no one was nearby to see what she was doing. Holding her breath, she placed the atlas on the floor and set her claw to the page.

Snnk.

The twine binding the pages together snapped easily under her sharp talon. Carefully, she pulled the double-page spread, the entire map of the Dragon Realms, free from the book. Then, heart pounding, she folded it up and stuffed it into her satchel. In the same breath, she flipped the atlas closed and slid it back into its place on the shelf.

She stepped back. Her heart was racing. She'd just defiled a library book. Silverback would have gone mad if he'd seen her do it.

But no one had seen her, and she slipped out of the geography section silent as a shadow, feeling like she'd done something irreversibly awful. At least she had the map now. And it would be more useful to her than anyone else in the library.

At least, that was what she told herself.

The rest of the afternoon crawled by, while Charla twisted her paws and wore furrows in the floor pacing up and down the aisles. It was looking more and more unlikely that she would get her paws on that key. This one chance—this single-day opportunity that the ancestors had presented her with—was slipping by. And there was nothing she could do about it.

That was, until the end of the day.

Charla didn't have to be back at the orphanage until sundown, so Chelcie offered to walk her there once she finished work. For lack of anything better to do, and feeling fretful and hopeless, Charla settled in the lounging area to wait. She watched the clock on the wall above her, its wooden pendulum swinging slowly. In ten minutes, Chelcie would finish work. Then she would give the archives key back and Charla's only chance to get it would be well and truly gone.

Maybe it was time she started thinking about other ways to get the key. Or maybe even other ways of getting out of Warfang. The secret passages in the archives couldn't be the only way...

All of a sudden, there was a commotion over near the fiction section. Two teenage dragons, probably students from the academy, had had some kind of disagreement. A very physical disagreement. In the resulting tussle, they'd knocked over a display and sent all the books flying. Charla stared in amazement.

Chelcie, on the other paw, leapt up from the service desk and bolted over. As Charla watched, wide-eyed, she forcibly pulled the teenagers apart and sent them packing from the library. Looking irritable but slightly abashed, the pair of them skulked out into the entrance hall. Charla slid off her cushion and went over to join Chelcie.

"What a mess," Chelcie was muttering as she gathered up the fallen books and tried to stand the wooden display board up again at the same time. She didn't seem to be having much luck.

"Um... Are you okay?" Charla asked, as Chelcie stumbled and almost got her tail caught under the falling display board.

"Rotten kids!" Chelcie exclaimed, dropping the books and turning her full attention to the wooden board. She set it straight, muttering to herself. "Can't they fight somewhere else? I've got five minutes until I knock off, and now I have to fix up this blasted display."

"Do you need help?" asked Charla, a little timidly. She'd rarely seen Chelcie get mad. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Chelcie sighed. "No, it's okay. Just wait for me for a little longer, okay? I'll just fix this up and go put Solaea's key back, and then I'll meet you in the foyer."

A jolt of electricity shot through Charla's mind. Her brain seized. There it was—a chance; the chance she'd been waiting for all day. She opened her mouth.

"I can take it back for you."

Chelcie looked down at her in surprise.

"The key, I mean," Charla said quickly, trying not to sound too eager. "Where does it go?"

"Oh..." Chelcie hesitated. "I guess you can do that. I won't take long here. It's gotta go back in Solaea's office—look for the third door on the left; it's got her name on it. You won't be able to get in, so just put it in the chute. It's a one-way thing."

"Okay," Charla said brightly.

And just like that, Chelcie looped her wingclaw under the rope around her neck and lifted it over her head. Charla took it in her mouth, so that the key pendant hung level with her chest. Her paws were tingling.

Without further pause, she turned and hurried off towards the library offices.

"Thanks, Charla," Chelcie called after her.

Her heart thundering like mad and her head buzzing, Charla walked until she couldn't see Chelcie anymore through the tall bookshelves. Then, when she was positive no one was watching her, she dropped the key into her paw and shoved it into her satchel.

She closed the flap. It was done. No one had seen her.

Hardly daring to breathe, she stood still for a few moments, glancing around to make sure no one was about to walk up and surprise her. When she decided enough time had passed, she turned and headed back to Chelcie.

The display was already mostly fixed. Chelcie was just putting the last two books back into place when Charla returned.

"Did you put it in the chute?" Chelcie asked as she approached.

"Yep," Charla said, a little breathlessly, trying to sound normal. Her heart was still pounding. She hoped Chelcie couldn't hear it.

"Good dragon." Chelcie smiled, put the last book back, and looked the display over. "All done. Let's get going, shall we?"

And feeling like she was walking on ice, Charla followed Chelcie towards the entrance hall. Just before they reached it, however, someone called out to them. A chill swept through Charla's veins.

"Did you put the archives key back, Chelcie?" one of the other library workers called.

"I did!" Chelcie yelled back. Charla held her breath.

The other worker just raised his wing. "Thanks! See you next week!"

And then they were free to go. Charla suppressed her sigh of relief as she and Chelcie stepped out through the foyer and into the late afternoon sunlight.

The whole way back to the orphanage, all she could think about was the key nestled in her satchel. It was like it was burning a hole through the fabric and into her scales. She couldn't have forgotten about it if she wanted to. And Chelcie had no idea. If she found out... Charla dreaded to think.

It seemed to take forever just to walk a few streets, but finally the orphanage rose into view. Charla tried not to let her skittish paws speed up. She had to act normal. She had to be calm. No one knew the key was in her satchel, and no one would find out. It was fine.

Lance met them at the door after Chelcie rang the bell.

"I thought it would be you," he said impassively. "Cutting it a bit fine, aren't you? The sun's already going down."

"Orinthe said I had to be back before dark, so I'm back." Charla jutted her lower jaw out with a defiant scowl.

He just shrugged and looked at Chelcie. "What's up, Chels? Finished for the day?"

"Finally," Chelcie said, good-naturedly. "I had to fill in for Solaea today, so I was extra busy. And right as we were about to leave, these two idiot teenagers went and demolished a display!"

"Figures," Lance muttered.

Charla was silent, fidgeting anxiously, hyper-aware of her satchel resting against her flank. She wanted to go inside already and put it away from prying eyes.

"Anyway," Chelcie said suddenly, "Charla and I were thinking we could all go to the markets tomorrow, between her classes. Do you wanna come?"

Charla froze. She'd completely forgotten about that. As Lance nodded and agreed, as he always did, a startling thought occurred to her. She wouldn't be here tomorrow. She had to leave tonight.

There was no other choice. The missing key would surely be noticed by tomorrow, and, through Chelcie, it would quickly be traced to her. Who knew what would happen after that—but she would surely never escape the city then.

No, she had to go, and she had to go soon. By tomorrow morning, she had to be out of Warfang.

The very thought made her stomach twist painfully. She felt sick. It had all happened so quickly. She'd had no chance to say goodbye to anyone, or to try to convince Lance to go with her. She wasn't prepared for this.

"See you tomorrow, Charla?" Chelcie asked, pulling her from her spiralling thoughts, and Charla jumped.

"Uh... Y-yeah. Of course." She tried to smile, to be normal. Chelcie's face swam before her eyes and Charla realised this would be the last time she saw her. This was the last day they'd had together, and she hadn't even known.

Her paws were shaking.

"See you." Chelcie dipped her head and gave Charla her customary one-winged hug.

"Bye," Charla whispered. It was all she could say. There was no time or place for heartfelt goodbyes. This was all there could be.

Feeling strange and disembodied, she watched Lance and Chelcie bump wingclaws like they always did when they said goodbye. Then Chelcie was walking away and Charla stared after her, her breath cold in her chest and a guilty fear spreading like poison through her veins.

There was nothing else for it. She had to confront Lance.

Her satchel had been deposited securely in their room, covered by the cushions in her bed. But her restless thoughts kept darting back up to it, and to the key tucked safely inside. Tonight was the night. And she'd be damned if she left without trying to fix things with Lance.

Charla followed him up to their room after dinner, and shut the door behind her. He gave her an odd look. Usually she liked to keep the door open, except at night. It was too stuffy, otherwise.

"I need to talk to you," she mumbled, as her eyes darted to her satchel to assure herself it was still there, untouched.

Lance instantly noticed something was amiss. She'd expected nothing less from him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, crossing the room to meet her. "Are you okay?"

"I..." Charla looked up at him, at his concerned steel-grey eyes, and hesitated. How could she talk to him? What could she say? "I just..."

Words failed her. She turned her face away and stared unseeing at her bed, her chest cold. Lance's paw fell heavily on her shoulder.

"Charla, what is it? Talk to me."

She shook her head. What could she say? Nothing she'd said before had gotten through to him. Panic started to rise in her chest. She had to say something.

Lance sighed. "C'mon, kid. I'm worried about you. All this time you've been spending outside of the orphanage... I feel like you're planning something."

The breath caught in her throat. She didn't dare look up at him.

His paw trembled slightly on her shoulder. "Am I wrong? Am I just imagining it? Charla, speak to me. I'm scared for you. I don't want you to do something crazy and get yourself hurt. I know things are hard for you right now, but I'm here for you. Talk to me."

Charla took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his, steeling herself. He stared back searchingly. Her heartbeat quickened.

"Will you really not come with me?" she whispered. "To the Well of Souls?"

His jaw tightened. "We talked about this already, Charla..."

"But why?" she insisted, pulling away from his paw. "I thought I could trust you. You promised me."

Lance's eyes flashed and he drew himself up, his paws tensing. "Don't start this again. Please. I've already told you where I stand. The promise I made to you was a promise to protect you. And the best way I can do that is to keep you with me—whether that's here or in Jordguard."

"But Lance—"

"I know you're still searching for a way out of Warfang," he interrupted harshly. "I'm not stupid. But I can't stop you. I can only take comfort in the knowledge that there is no way out of the city. I just wish you'd listen to me before you go and do something stupid and get yourself into trouble."

His words cut through her like blades. He had no idea. But she couldn't stay silent—she had to say something.

"I want you to come with me!" she cried. "I don't want to leave you behind! Why do you have to do this?"

"Charla!" he snapped, and she drew back with wide eyes. "Listen to yourself! You're talking like you've already found a way out of Warfang. You know it's impossible. There is no 'going with you.' Neither of us are going anywhere now. Don't make a fool of yourself."

Her eyes were stinging, but she blinked them furiously and shook her head. "Wh-what if I did find a way out? What if..."

Lance gazed impassively down at her, but Charla thought she saw sadness deep in his eyes. "If I see you doing anything that might get you in trouble, I will report you to Orinthe."

Charla gaped. "Y-you wouldn't..."

"I'll report you to the city guards if I have to," he growled, his jaw twitching. "I will not let you do something stupid on my watch. You need to give up on these childish fantasies, Charla, before you hurt yourself."

He closed his eyes and turned his face away. "And that's all I'll say about that. Don't ask me again, kid. Just don't."

Paws trembling, chest aching, Charla swallowed the dry lump in her throat and stared at the floor. Everything was blurring oddly before her eyes. She swiped her paw quickly across them and drew a shaky breath.

"F-fine," she choked out.

Without another word, she whirled around and left the room, letting the door thud loudly behind her. Lance didn't follow.

Night fell. Charla couldn't sleep.

Not that she wanted to. There would be no time for sleeping this night. She sat rigid in her bed, her satchel clutched between her paws, as the world outside the windows darkened. She couldn't tell if Lance was asleep yet; he lay still and silent, but Charla felt like he was just waiting for her to do something.

The minutes dragged by. She stared at the clock on the desk across the room, but it was too dark to make out the time. Her eyes caught the swinging pendulum, and for a long time she just watched it, listening to its quiet ticking. Her stomach was clenching; she felt ill.

Could she really do this? Would it really work? Could she really leave Lance behind?

She didn't know.

Her fretful paws found the little white ribbon that Orinthe had given her when she'd first come to the orphanage—the one she liked to wear on her tail. She twisted it absentmindedly around her claws, its silky texture soft and comforting against her scales, and waited.

A while later, a gentle snore broke her from a kind of anxious stupor and she looked across at Lance. He had to be asleep now, surely. It must have been past midnight. Tiredness pulled at the space behind her eyes, but she fought it off. It was time.

Without really thinking about it, she pushed the white ribbon into her satchel, got to her feet, and put the satchel on over her head. It came to rest comfortingly against her flank. Swallowing dryly, Charla stepped out of her bed and tiptoed towards the window, which was open a crack. She pressed her paw to the cold glass and pushed. It opened further with a soft whine.

Holding her breath, Charla looked at Lance. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful in sleep. There was no danger of waking him now—she knew how heavily he slept. She was free to go, and he wouldn't know until the next morning.

But her paws would not move. She was frozen in place, in time, her eyes fixed on him. If she did this... If she left now, she would never see Lance again.

Could she do that? Could she walk away from him after everything that had happened?

He had been with her for what felt like a lifetime. She had lost Jayce, and then Lance had been there. If she left now, like this, she would throw all that away. She would be alone again. Vaguely, she could still remember the weeks she'd spent in that lonely coastal forest, after she'd been separated from Jayce. Could she go back to that?

So much had changed. Somehow, without her even thinking about it, Lance had become a part of her life. And now she had to leave him behind.

Charla wrenched her eyes away, but her trembling paws would not shift. What if he changed his mind? When he woke to find her gone... What would he think? Would he worry? Would he want to follow?

She couldn't just leave like this. She couldn't.

And, just like that, a thought came to her. She looked down at her satchel, her heart beating in her throat.

The map—the one she'd torn from the atlas in the library. Did she really need it? She'd looked at it so many times, committed it to memory, planned her route. Surely that would be enough.

Conviction clamped hard around her heart. She went over to the nearest desk, flipped her satchel open, and pulled out the map. Holding her breath, she unfolded it and placed it flat on the desk, trying not to let it rustle too loudly. In the darkness it was hard to make it out, but Charla had stared at it so many times that she knew what she was looking at. She pulled the inkbottle towards her.

Seconds later, she stared down at the inky line she'd drawn across the map. It snaked its way from Warfang, through the canyon, and up along the Great Eastern River to Pyreflight. From there, it turned west along the Serpens River and finally south to the Well of Souls.

Charla gulped. She pushed the inkbottle away, wiped her claw on the edge of the map, and then backed away.

That was enough. It was all she could do. Lance would find it—he would understand.

Now, it was really time to go. Trembling, Charla turned back to the window and looked one last time at Lance. He slept on, undisturbed, unaware of what she was about to do, unknowing that he might never see her again. Her eyes stung.

"Bye," she whispered.

And she leapt through the window in a single bound, spreading her wings to catch the wind. The chill night-time air carried her away from the orphanage, away from Lance, and into the unknown.

The library was creepy at night, when no one else was around and the enormous turrets rose high into darkness as though to pierce the moons. It loomed darkly over the city streets around it, an enormous sentinel of stone. Charla headed straight for one of the turrets. One thing she had figured out, long before getting the key to the archives, was how to get into the library when it was all locked up for the night. The study towers provided the answer.

There were fireplaces in the private studies, which meant there were also chimneys. And Charla was pretty sure she could fit down a chimney.

It did, however, involve a bit of wriggling and a lot of cinders. By the time she squeezed down the narrow stone duct and dropped into one of the study rooms, her scales were black. She spent a few moments brushing the ash off—or rather, smearing it everywhere—before taking stock of where she was.

The study room was small and cosy. There was a low table in the centre and squashy cushions laid around it, and the walls were made of bookshelves like in the reading room—except smaller. The gem-studded chandelier was unlit, and all was dark.

Charla quickly headed for the door, which was locked only by a simple latch. She flipped it and stepped out into the curving hallway.

She was in.

Minutes later, Charla had navigated her way to the bottom of the tower and out into the library's main hub. Everything looked strangely different in the dark. The warm sandstone corridors were cold and bluish in the gloom, and shadows filled the spaces between the shelves. All was silent, eerie, and cold.

As Charla set foot inside the main hub, however, she heard pawsteps. Holding in a gasp, she backed up and pressed herself to the wall, just inside the entrance to the study tower. Her heart was thundering.

She watched as a dragon, wearing plain bronze armour, wandered into view from between bookshelves near the heart of the library's main hub. He walked slowly and looked dreadfully bored—the security guard, she realised. As she watched, her heart beating in her throat, he circled the empty service desk and headed towards the entrance hall. Charla held her breath.

As soon as he was out of view, and she couldn't hear his pawsteps any longer, Charla darted into one of the aisles and down to the back wall. Then, keeping an eye out towards the foyer, she slunk along the wall, behind the aisles. The guard was in the entrance hall. She could see his armour glinting in a shaft of moonlight coming through a window. He was too far away for her to see his face.

Terrified, her breaths shallow, Charla slipped into the hallway and scampered down past the closed office doors. She kept glancing back, hoping against hope that the guard wouldn't look her way. The hallway seemed impossibly, unbearably long. She was sure it hadn't been this long before.

But then she reached the back wall of the library building and darted around the corner. There, she leant against the wall and gasped for breath, her heart thudding violently against her ribcage.

She was almost there. The door to the archives was right in front of her.

On trembling legs, she crept towards it, wide-eyed, reverent. It loomed over her in the dark, and she could almost imagine it was glaring down at her, a silent disapproving guardian. She reached into her satchel with fumbling paws and pulled out the key. The rope necklace slipped in her paws and the pendant almost fell. With a sharp intake of breath, Charla gripped it hard. It didn't hit the ground.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest now. She was shaking like a leaf. Where was the security guard? Was he still out in the foyer? Was he coming her way?

She had to act, now, while she still had a chance. Paws shaking, she rose to her hind legs and pressed the key to the indent in the middle of the door. It took a moment for her to figure out how it fit, but finally it slid into place with a quiet click.

Nothing happened. Charla held her breath and stepped away. Then the metal plate in the centre of the door rotated slowly, taking the key with it, and the door slid open.

Clunk.

Charla wasted no time. She darted through, into darkness, and didn't look back. Maybe the sound had alerted the security guard, maybe it hadn't—but she wasn't sticking around to find out. She didn't even spare time to retrieve the key.

Breathing heavily, she cantered into gloomy stone hallways and practically flew down the first staircase she saw, into absolute darkness. Only when she got to the bottom did she stop and look around.

It was pitch black. She could hardly see her own paws, let alone where she was going.

The back of her neck prickled. She edged forward, feeling along the cold stone wall, until her wingclaw touched something. A gem. Charla drew in a deep breath and spat out a tongue of flame.

The gem lit up with a fiery orange glow. Charla looked around. This place looked like some kind of dungeon. The walls were dark and grey, and the corridors were narrow. Enormous stone shelves filled the gloomy space, stacked with books, scrolls and other things that she didn't bother inspecting. Her eyes raked the walls, until finally they fell on something.

A piece of parchment had been stuck to the wall, close to the glowing gem. Charla crept over to it, relieved.

A few days ago, she'd had the bright idea to ask Solaea how they knew to find their way around the archives—since it was so big and there were so many levels. Her answer had been more helpful than expected.

"There are floor plans on every level," Solaea had told her. "We just look at those when we get lost. They list the main items on every level and even show the entrances to the secret passageways."

Charla had clearly found one of these floor plans. It looked kind of like a map, except...boxier. There was a lot of text, but no pictures, and a lot of straight lines. It told Charla that she was on the second level. She scanned it hurriedly until she found what she was looking for.

From the third level, several paths branched off in different directions. One was labelled 'Atrium'—another said 'Temple of Warfang.' Charla's eyes narrowed in on the one she wanted. 'Old Warfang,' the label said. It branched off from the far left corner of the third level.

Still panting a little, Charla quickly looked for a stairway on the floor plan. There was one nearby, just past these shelves. That was all she needed to know.

Charla turned away from the map and hurried down the gloomy stone corridor, passing the towering bookshelves. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. Her paws were clammy and she couldn't stop shivering. Nothing about this felt right.

Escaping from the Well of Souls had been very different—a wild chase through hidden mountain passageways she'd known all her life, Jayce racing beside her. It had been thrilling, terrifying, exhilarating.

But this was slow, quiet and ominous. She didn't know where she was going and would have been completely lost if not for the floor plan. And she was alone; horribly alone. It filled her lungs with ice. If only Lance had been with her.

She hadn't expected the archives to feel so cold and eerie. As she slipped between two shelves, she felt like they were glaring down at her, waiting to crumble upon her trembling form. The books they carried were enormous—like slabs of stone that could have crushed her beneath their weight.

Charla had no desire to stop and look at them. Exploring the archives had sounded exciting before, but now that she was there—surrounded by darkness, shrinking between the towering shelves, full of the horrible feeling that she shouldn't be there—she just wanted to get out. If she listened beyond her own heavy breathing, she even thought she could hear a chorus of disapproving whispers coming from the books themselves. Her scales prickled.

She pressed on, past rows of spiky metal chests full of who knew what, and didn't even pause to examine a shelf packed with gem-encrusted artefacts. She had to keep going. She couldn't stop.

Finally, the entrance to the stairway loomed out of the darkness, sinking down into the deepest black like the yawning maw of a great beast. Charla hesitated on the first step. One look behind her—at the empty stone corridors, full of shadows and silence—convinced her to go on. She plunged down into the cold void.

It was too dark to see. Charla felt for the edge of each step with her paws and steadily crept down to the third level. A few minutes later, frightened and blinded, she felt her paws hit solid ground. Blinking uselessly, she felt along the wall and found another gem.

Once it was lit, and the stone hallways were aglow with orange light, she moved on. The nearby floor plan told her she was definitely on the third level. She was almost there. Down the corridor she went, struggling to see in the dim light, her breath rising like fog as she passed through the shadows of enormous stone shelves. It seemed to go on forever.

But then, finally, she reached the far corner.

There was a door in the wall, small and round—just large enough for an adult dragon to fit through. A large colourless gem sat dead in its centre. There was nothing to tell her this was the right door—but it had to be.

Charla looked around, her spine tingling. She was alone in the darkness. There was no sign of the security guard. Maybe he hadn't even noticed the open door to the archives.

She looked back at the door, inhaled deeply, and breathed out. Fire gushed from her mouth; it struck the gem dead in the centre and licked at its glassy surface, until it glowed with a fierce red-orange light. Before her eyes, the door split in two and its halves slid away into the walls.

Her way was clear. Charla stepped into the passage without a second thought.

She'd only gone a few tail-lengths in when the door clunked and slid shut behind her. It wasn't a loud sound, but she jumped. She looked over her shoulder at the closed door and, with a twist of the stomach, wondered if that meant she was now locked out of the archives. She didn't try to check.

Shaking a little, she carried on. There wasn't much light in the passage; a row of tiny yellow gems glowed along the ceiling, feebly illuminating her way. The passageway snaked on endlessly into the gloom.

Charla followed it for what seemed like hours, until her paws started to ache. There was no end in sight, just stone walls and tiny glowing gems. What if it led nowhere? What if it did go on forever and she was stuck wandering in the dark for the rest of her life?

The further she went, the faster her steps became. Nothing in the passageway changed. It was all the same. Soon, Charla was running. She galloped through the darkness, her paws drumming cold hard stone, the gem-lights blurring overhead, her breaths coming in short sharp gasps. She had to get out. She couldn't be trapped in here.

Then, all of a sudden, a wall rose out of the gloom ahead of her.

Charla skidded to a halt, gasping for breath. The passageway had ended, but there was no door in the wall—just smooth, unmarked stone, and not even a gem to activate. She stepped up to it, heart pounding.

This couldn't be the end of the passageway. It was supposed to take her into the underground city. Chelcie said it would. The floor plan said it would.

How could this be a dead end?

She raised her paw to the wall. It was cold and smooth to the touch, and her claws could not scratch it. Charla gritted her teeth. There was no way this was the end.

She backed up a step, filled her lungs with fire, and breathed. Her flames licked over the stone, lighting up the darkness, spreading over the wall. She screwed her eyes shut, her nostrils flaring, and suddenly there was a small click.

The wall slid sideways. Charla cut off her fire, breathing heavily through her nose. Darkness yawned ahead of her. The way was open.

And just like that, she stepped out into Old Warfang.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear falling water and the sound of wind whistling through tiny cracks in stone. Hardly daring to believe it, Charla crept further out from the passageway. There, right across from her, rising out of the darkness, was the catwalk that spanned the entirety of the buried city. A small, crumbling bridge led to it from her platform. She stepped to the edge and looked down into the yawning chasm below.

She had done it. She was back in Old Warfang. The canyon was only a short flight away.

With a gasping laugh of triumph, Charla leapt off the platform and spread her wings. Up she went, catching a draft that rose from somewhere below her in the dark void. She twisted in the air and shot away over the catwalk, into the darkness, the sound of distant waterfalls roaring in her head.

Old Warfang spread below her, dark and silent, a lonely memory of what had once been. Another time, Charla would have taken the chance to explore. There was no one to stop her now. But all she wanted in this moment was to get out, to be free, to soar in the open air outside of the city and know that she had succeeded, that she had escaped.

So she flew on, past crumbling buildings rising out of the gloom, over the empty catwalk, towards the end.

Moments later, as a great wall of earth rose before her, she descended onto the platform beyond the catwalk. In front of her rose the door to the canyon, perhaps not as tall or grand as she remembered. But it was closed—for the most part.

Charla stepped up to it, feeling like her heart had dropped into her stomach. She hadn't thought about this part. She'd completely forgotten that they'd closed the door behind them. And she didn't have Jorric and the other earth dragons there to help her open it this time.

She edged to the side. It was still open a little bit. She went to press her face to the opening and realised she could just fit her whole head through. A cool, gentle wind caressed her scales. The night sky, clear and bright, loomed overhead, the stars unhindered by artificial city light. She was so close.

But her shoulders would not follow. No matter how she pushed and wriggled, she could not squeeze through the gap. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped her claws around the edge of the door and pulled with all her might. It didn't budge an inch. She stumbled back, shaking her head.

No. No way.

She had come this far. She had stolen the key to the archives. She had forced herself to leave Lance behind. She had snuck into the library, avoided the security guard, made her way through the archives, and found the secret passageway all on her own. She would not be stopped by a stupid door.

Fire was brewing in her chest—a furious, frustrated energy that she couldn't hold in. With a snarl of defiance, Charla let it out. A fireball flew from her jaws. It struck the edge of the door with thunderous force, enough to send her stumbling backwards, and shards of stone exploded in all directions, narrowly missing her. As the smoke cleared, she stared wide-eyed.

Her fireball had blown a chunk off the weathered old door. It wasn't enough to let her squeeze through, but it was something. Charla bared her fangs.

She would not be stopped by this. She would not be trapped here. She would not be held against her will.

Another fireball struck the same spot with destructive force. Charla ducked a shard of rock and fired another. The stone splintered; smoke filled her vision and choked her nostrils. With a deep-throated growl, she threw herself at the door, and now there was fire between her claws. Rock splintered and broke beneath her furious tirade, falling away from the door, littering the floor around her feet. Her paws ached, but she hardly noticed.

When she finally stopped, she was gasping for breath. Smoke rose in billows from her jaws, from her claws, from the splinters of shattered stone. There was a sizeable wound in the edge of the door now, a rugged hollow charred by fire. Charla pushed her head through. Her shoulders stuck for a moment. She wriggled and pushed with all her might, gritting her teeth as the jagged rock pressed into her scales.

And then she broke free. She stumbled forwards and almost fell, but caught herself just in time. The nightly breeze swept over her raw shoulders and flank. She must have lost a few scales.

But she was out. She had gotten through. She had done it.

Wide-eyed, Charla stared up at the door nestled in the canyon wall. It looked very weathered and old in the darkness, not at all how she remembered it. Her heart was still pounding, her chest still heaving. As she stood there in the silence, it all started to sink in.

She was outside of Warfang. All was quiet, but for the river flowing far below and the wind whistling through the canyon. When she looked to the side, she caught a small glimpse of the dam rising stark and bone-white into the night. Then her eyes slid back to the door.

Little more than two weeks ago, she had stood in this very place with Lance and Chelcie, staring up at this grand door and wondering what could be on the other side.

Now she stood there alone. She had escaped from Warfang all on her own. Relief swept like cool water through her veins. She had done it.

For several long moments, Charla just stood there, gazing up at the door. The carvings of the dragon and the mole looked down at her, and to her they looked somehow sad—like they knew what she had done, what she had left behind. But there was no use dwelling on that now.

Her choice had been made. There was no going back. Jayce was waiting for her.

Charla turned to the canyon, spreading her wings. Without looking back, she leapt into the sky and soared away from Warfang, from Lance, and into the night.