No time for an Apology

Darius and Elara are still at odds. Daily Flash Fiction Entry.

The corridor out of the vault was narrow, lined with flickering torch sconces that hadn’t burned in centuries until Darius lit them with a casual wave of his fingers.

That same wave made Elara’s stomach twist.

She marched ahead of him, her boots stomping harder than necessary.

“You haven’t said anything since the mirror,” Darius said behind her.

“I’ve said plenty,” Elara shot back, eyes fixed forward. “Just not out loud.”

Darius sighed. “I only kept it from you to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection, Darius. I need honesty.”

Before he could respond, the wall to their right exploded in a shower of stone and fire. Smoke billowed in thick waves as the familiar roar shook the chamber.

The smoke dragon emerged again; massive wings folding inward as it slithered into the hall, molten eyes locking onto them. Its body pulsed like living fog, shifting in and out of solidity.

Darius instinctively stepped in front of Elara. “Run.”

“No,” she said. “Not this time.”

Together, they turned and sprinted down the corridor as the dragon surged after them, walls crumbling in its wake.

They burst into the relic room, where ancient displays lay shattered from their earlier escape. Darius skidded to a halt, panic rising in his chest.

“The box,” he said, rushing to the pedestal where they’d last seen the silver container with the seal of the Ancients. “It’s gone.”

Elara followed, eyes scanning the ruined room.

Then she saw the thin imprint of boot tracks in the dust; fresh.

“Somebody stole it,” she said, her voice cold. “They followed us in. Let us open it. Let you open it.”

The dragon roared again, closer now.

Darius stared at the empty pedestal, guilt and fear tightening in his chest. “We played right into their hands.”