Breaking the Chains -Elara
The dungeon door groaned open again like clockwork, the sound echoing like a death knell through the stone corridor. My heart hammered against my ribs—what was left of them—but my face stayed still, unreadable. I had counted the drips, tracked the steps, memorized the flaws. Tonight wasn’t just another round of torment. Tonight, I would forge my way out.
The two patrol guards entered just as I knew they would, torches in hand, sneers already stretching across their faces. “Our little blacksmith still breathing?” one mocked, his voice thick with amusement. “She’s tougher than she looks. Taylor might regret locking this one up.”
The other chuckled, stepping closer. “Not for long.”
I forced my body to sag against the wall, letting my head droop like I’d lost the fight. Pain screamed in every muscle, but I welcomed it—it made the act real. My breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, just convincing enough to stoke their cruelty.
“Pathetic,” the taller one sneered, crouching down so close I could smell the sour ale on his breath. His keys jingled at his belt as he leaned in, his boot braced against my chain. I kept my gaze on the floor, watching, waiting.
One sloppy right step. Just like always.
I timed my move with the drip of water, letting its steady rhythm guide me. One… two… three—
I lashed out, snapping my body forward, slamming my forehead into his nose with every ounce of strength I had left. Pain shot through my skull, stars bursting across my vision, but the guard howled and staggered back, blood spurting between his fingers.
Before the second could react, I twisted hard, yanking my arms against the ropes until skin tore. Fire ripped through my wrists, but the rope strained—shifted—and then gave just enough for me to wrench my right hand free.
The torchlight flared, their shouts rising in the confined space, but I was already moving. My free hand shot out, snatching the taller one’s belt as he reeled backward. My fingers closed around the keys. Victory burned hot in my chest even as the second guard lunged at me.
His spear slammed against my shoulder, throwing me against the wall. Agony lit up my body, but my fingers fumbled the key into the lock at my ankles. One turn. Two. The rusted clasp snapped open, releasing my legs for the first time in days.
The shorter guard cursed, raising his boot to stomp me back into submission. Not tonight.
I rolled to the side, teeth clenched against the scream in my throat, and grabbed his ankle with both hands. With a desperate twist, I yanked hard, pulling him off balance. His body hit the stone floor with a sickening thud, his head cracking against the corner of the wall. He went limp.
The taller one, blood still pouring from his nose, charged at me with a snarl. My body was battered, broken, but fury carried me. I ducked low, grabbing the fallen guard’s spear, and swung upward with a grunt. The shaft connected with the tall one’s temple. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed beside his partner.
Silence rushed in, broken only by my own ragged breaths. My hands shook violently, blood dripping from my wrists, sweat and soot mixing on my skin. I couldn’t afford to collapse—not now.
I staggered to my feet, clutching the keys in one hand and the spear in the other. The torch flickered wildly as if urging me forward. My chains lay in pieces at my feet.
I was free.
But freedom meant nothing if I didn’t get out of this place alive.
The stairwell stretched upward, every step an agony, but I forced myself onward. My breath wheezed, my vision blurred, yet with each rise of stone, I repeated the words that had kept me alive: Endure the fire, Elara. Endure, and you will be sharper than they can imagine.
At the top of the stairs, I pressed myself against the wall, listening. Voices drifted from above—more patrols, maybe three or four. I tightened my grip on the spear, but I knew I wouldn’t survive a head-on fight in this condition.
I slid the key into the final lock, opening the iron gate at the stairwell’s mouth. It groaned, and my heart leapt into my throat. Boots scuffed on stone, voices pausing.
I ducked into the shadows, every muscle screaming, and prayed to the Moon Goddess that their curiosity didn’t pull them closer.
Seconds stretched like hours. Then laughter resumed, the voices fading away.
I slipped through the gate and into the corridor, the cold air of the upper hall burning my lungs like freedom itself.
The fortress was sprawling, its walls lined with banners I didn’t recognize. Not my pack’s colors. These weren’t my people—they never had been. I was deep in enemy territory, and every breath was a risk.
But I was alive. Alive, unbroken, and with blood on my hands.
I clutched the spear tighter, moving swiftly but silently down the hall. My body wanted to collapse, but my mind burned hotter than the forge. Each step carried me closer to the forest, closer to home, closer to a future where I wasn’t prey but predator.
And as I pushed open the heavy door leading into the night, cool wind rushing across my bloodied face, I couldn’t help but whisper into the darkness:
“They tried to break me. But all they did was forge me.”
The moonlight washed over me, silver and pure. For the first time in my life, I thought I felt something stir deep within—something more than human, more than pain.
Something wolf.