Marcus stood frozen on the spiral staircase. The stone steps were cold beneath his boots.

Another scream tore through the air. It was ragged and high-pitched.

It sounded like an animal dying in a trap.

His hand gripped the rusty iron railing. His knuckles turned white.

"Just keep moving," Marcus whispered to himself.

His voice trembled in the damp air.

He stared at the darkness above. The stairs spiraled up into the gloom.

'This is not my business,' he thought. 'I am not a hero. I am a life coach. I am just a powerless normal guy'

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He tried to block out the sound. He tried to focus on his breathing.

In, out. In, out.

'I cannot save everyone,' he reasoned internally. 'I barely saved myself from that cell.'

He was physically weak. He had no magic. He had no weapon.

Going up there was suicide. It was illogical.

He lifted his foot to take the next step. He steeled himself to ignore the horror above.

'What is wrong?' a voice asked. 'Just ignore the noise.'

The voice did not come from the air. It did not echo off the walls.

It resonated directly inside his skull. It was clear and bell-like.

Marcus jolted. He nearly slipped on the mossy stone.

He whipped his head around. He looked up the stairs.

The little girl stood three steps above him. She was looking down at him.

Her body was blurry and translucent under the concealment spell. But he could feel her gaze.

She was staring right into his eyes. Her expression was flat and bored.

Marcus blinked. He touched his temple.

"Did you just..." he started to say aloud, then stopped.

He looked at her again. She hadn't moved her lips.

'Telepathy,' Marcus realized. 'Of course. Another magic trick.'

The girl tilted her head slightly. She looked impatient.

'Why have you stopped?' she asked inside his mind. 'We need to keep moving.'

Marcus stared at her. He felt a mix of awe and frustration.

"I can't just..." Marcus whispered, pointing upward.

"AAAAAGHHH"

The scream came again. It was weaker this time. It ended in a sob.

Marcus flinched. The sound hit him like a physical blow.

The girl sighed. The sound echoed in his mind as a soft breeze.

'It is not like the girl is your daughter,' the voice said flatly. 'She is a stranger. Her pain is not yours.'

She said it to be helpful. She wanted to strengthen his resolve.

She wanted him to detach and focus on survival.

But the words had the opposite effect.

They shattered the fragile wall Marcus had built around his conscience.

'Your daughter.'

The words bounced around Marcus's brain.

Suddenly, an image flashed in his mind. It was vivid and terrifying.

He saw a small girl. She had his messy black hair. She had Catarina's emerald green eyes.

She was tied to a table. She was crying for him.

And Elowen was standing over her with a knife.

The blood drained from Marcus's face. His stomach churned violently.

His knees nearly buckled, but somehow kept himself standing.

The imaginary scream of that girl merged with the real scream from upstairs.

It was unbearable.

The little girl watched him. She saw his skin turn the color of ash.

She saw the raw terror in his eyes.

She frowned. Her smooth forehead creased.

'What is wrong?' she asked telepathically. 'Your heart rate just spiked.'

Marcus gasped for air. He looked at the girl.

He needed to answer. He needed to make her understand.

He focused his thoughts. He imagined speaking the words inside his head.

'I can't leave her,' Marcus projected. 'Can't you save the child?'

He felt a strange pressure in his forehead. The connection clicked.

The little girl heard him. Her frown deepened.

She looked at him like he was a particularly slow student.

'You are troublesome,' she sighed in his mind.

She turned around and faced the stairs again.

'Fine,' she projected. 'We will look. But do not make a sound.'

Marcus nodded frantically. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

They began to climb again.

They reached the top of the stairs and emerged onto the first level.

The air here was different. It smelled of sulfur and old iron.

There were no guards in the hallway. The corridor was empty and dim.

Torches flickered in iron brackets on the walls. The shadows danced like ghosts.

The screams were loud here. They came from a room at the end of the hall.

Marcus walked softly. He tried to match the girl's silent steps.

His heart hammered against his ribs.

He felt like it would crack his chest open.

They crept closer to the source of the sound.

It was a large cell. The door was made of heavy iron bars.

Inside, the room was lit by bright magical lanterns. It looked like a workshop.

But the tools on the walls were not for crafting.

There were saws. There were pliers. There were hooks of various sizes.

In the center of the room was a heavy wooden table, tilted at an angle.

A small figure was strapped to it.

Marcus peered through the bars. He squinted against the harsh light.

The victim was a girl. She looked no older than three or four.

She was tiny. Her skin was pale and covered in sweat.

But she was not human.

Two small, curved horns protruded from her forehead. They were the color of obsidian.

A tail, thin and scaled, hung off the edge of the table. It twitched weakly.

Marcus's eyes widened. He clenched his fists.

The child was bound by chains that glowed with faint blue runes. She could not move an inch.

Standing over her was Lady Elowen.

Elowen had removed her fine silk outer robe. She wore a heavy leather apron over her dress.

The apron was stained with dark, wet spots.

She held a small, silver knife in her hand and was humming a cheerful melody.

Beside her was a small table covered in instruments.

There were whips made of braided wire. There were branding irons glowing in a brazier.

Marcus' eyes traced the small, broken form on the table.

The child's body was a tapestry of cruelty.

Pale skin was marred by jagged lines. Some were old and faded white. Others were angry and red.

Burn marks dotted her small shoulders.

It was a history of pain written on a canvas that was far too young.

A wave of nausea crashed into Marcus. The smell of sulfur mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

Bile rose in his throat. It tasted acidic and hot.

He clamped a hand over his mouth. He forced himself to swallow.

If he vomited now, the concealment spell would break. And they would both die, well at least him.

He took a shaky breath through his nose. He focused on the child's head.

Those horns were real. They weren't a costume.

They grew from her skull, black and obsidian-hard.

'What is she?' Marcus projected the thought. His mental voice shook. 'Those horns...'

The mysterious girl stood beside him. She watched the scene with detached interest.

'She is a dragon,' the girl replied. Her telepathic voice was calm. 'A hatchling.'

Marcus froze. His mind reeled.

Dragons?

In the novel, dragons were myths. They were ancient history, dead for a thousand years.

They were background lore. Not living, breathing creatures in a noble's dungeon.

'That is impossible,' Marcus thought back. 'Dragons are extinct. The books say so.'

The mysterious girl glanced at him. Her lip curled slightly.

'Humans believe what they want to believe,' she projected. 'They are not extinct. They just learned to hide.'

She looked back at the girl on the table.

'Mostly,' she added.

Elowen turned back to the table. She picked up a slender, serrated blade.

"Now then," Elowen cooed. She sounded like a mother talking to a babe. "Let us see if your scales have hardened since yesterday."

The dragon girl whimpered. It was a low, keening sound.

Marcus felt his heart crack.

'We have to stop this,' Marcus pleaded. 'Please. You surely have something like an offensive magic, right? Save her.'

The mysterious girl sighed. It was a sound of mild annoyance.

'You are emotional,' she observed. 'It clouds your judgment.'

'She is being tortured!' Marcus shouted in his mind. 'Do something!'

'I am not a fan of unnecessary violence,' the girl replied coolly. 'Attacking Elowen now creates noise. It brings guards. Besides we are in an enclosed space, so that limits my spells a lot.'

She paused. She watched Elowen trace the knife over the dragon girl's arm.

'But I admit,' the mysterious girl added. 'I do not like this human either.'

'So you will help?' Marcus asked. Hope flared in his chest.

'We wait,' she decided. 'We wait for an opening. A distraction.'

'She can't wait!' Marcus argued. 'Look at her!'

'She is a dragon,' the mysterious girl said. 'Even a hatchling is tougher than ten men. She has endured this long. She can endure a few minutes more.'

Marcus gritted his teeth. He hated the logic. But he was powerless without her.

Inside the cell, Elowen leaned in close to the victim.

"You are such a fascinating specimen," Elowen whispered. Her eyes gleamed with madness. "You heal so fast. It makes the game last forever."

She drove the knife down.

She dug the tip into the dragon girl's forearm. She twisted it slowly.

"AAAAHH!"

The scream shattered the air. It vibrated through the floorboards.

The dragon girl thrashed against the chains. Her tail whipped frantically.

Blue runes flared on the bindings, burning her skin to keep her still.

Elowen laughed. It was a soft, tinkling laugh.

"Beautiful," Elowen murmured. "Such a rich tone."

Marcus bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the door off its hinges.

But he stood still.

He watched the torture. He watched the tears stream down the hatchling's face.

The same imaginative scene flashed in his mind again. Green eyes filled with pain.

'Hold on,' Marcus thought desperately. 'Just hold on.'

He stood in the shadows, invisible and helpless.

He waited for the girl next to him to make her move.

He prayed they wouldn't be too late.

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