Sandra follows, emitting a loud sigh. “Do you have to be so rude? He seemed nice.” She glances back over her shoulder.
A little toonice, especially for ourlittle-miss good-girl.Truth is, I probably just saved the two of them from becoming new additions to Dracoth’s horrid belt of bones and stringy bits.
Yeah, they should be thanking me!
But a worrying thought creeps in. “Did you see how he reacted when I mentioned Dracoth?”
Sandra glances away briefly. “Yeah, he did get kind of weird.”
I sigh, exasperated. “Great. We might as well be walking around with giant wedding rings stamped with Dracoth’s frowny face.”
Our suitor doesn’t even like us but keeps us to himself, like a child guarding his old toybox. The other aliens fear him, which means getting their help is a nonstarter. What is the smart move here? Ride the Dracoth bus until the wheels fall off? Hopefully, Sandra can convince him to keep me around in a comfortablelifestyle. Maybe do more of those rituals. It was fun... though I’d never say that out loud.
Sandra doesn’t laugh, just stares at the back of her hand where a ring might be. I frown, almost able to see the wedding bells and happily-ever-after she’s constructing in her head.
As we approach the third chamber on the left, the sounds hit us—stone pounding, geysers venting, the heat radiating out in waves. We both pause for a moment, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.
The chamber is enormous, filled with jagged rock formations. My attention snaps to two fighters at the center, locked in a deadly dance. They’re swinging brutal black stone weapons at each other like they’re aiming to kill. The ground dips down where they fight, bordered by a ring of cooling magma. Fissures line the walls, and dark bloodstains mar the serrated rocks. It’s like stepping into a mosh pit from hell.
“Uh... maybe we should... come back later,” Sandra stammers, wiping more sweat from her brow. Whether it’s the blistering heat or fear, I’m not sure.
I’m tempted to agree. My breath catches in my throat, feeling like a lost, helpless chicken who has wandered into the wolf’s den. The walls are jagged and uneven, formed by cooling lava flows, with veins of molten rock casting a reddish-orange glow throughout the cavern. The floor is worse—volcanic rock, cracked and shifting like molten traps waiting to spring.
“Yeah....” I start to say until my eyes find him. Dracoth. The giant bore sits near the end of the massive chamber in a bubbling pool of water, flanked by massive statues of fierce warriors which overlook with stern faces.
“Oh, found him!” I exclaim, rushing over while trying to navigate the treacherous uneven floor. The heat intensifies, drying out the back of my throat the closer I get to Dracoth. Other fighters grunt and strain around us, heaving roughboulders scattered across the room, while others attack rock-bound dummies wrapped in heavy chains with brutal, precise strikes.
Dracoth, in contrast, looks... peaceful, totally belying my frantic heartbeat. His eyes are closed as he bathes in the steaming pool, the picture of calm despite the surrounding chaos. He almost seems monk-like—a giant red murder monk.
“Um... hello?” I whisper, waving my hand awkwardly in front of his face. The bubbling water and hissing fissures almost drown out my voice. I glance at Sandra, whose face is now as flushed as Dracoth’s crimson skin.
“Maybe he’s sleeping?” I mutter, shrugging.
“Females,” Dracoth’s eyes shoot open, making me jump. “I could hear your frightened hearts.” His gaze flicks between us, with that so, so annoying unreadable expression.
“Nice to see you too, you big—”
“Hello, Dracoth! We thought we’d come visit,” Sandra cuts in front of me like a rude bitch. Fine. Whatever. This is the Sandra-and-Giant-Bore show, anyway. I’m just along for the ride—as the adorable third wheel.
I fold my arms, watching Dracoth’s molten eyes sweep over Sandra.
“The heat overwhelms you?” he asks, fixating on her sweat-soaked, heavy-breathing form. “I will take you to the entrance,” he offers, already rising.
“No!” Sandra snaps, raising a halting hand. “I’ll be fine... I just need to get used to it,” she suggests, her face approaching cooked-lobster stages of redness. “What... are you doing? We thought you were training,” she blurts out.
Typical. Dracoth, lounging around, so confident in his victory. I swear his ego is as big as his... Well, let’s just saythatmight be justified.
“I endure Arawnoth’s touch,” he growls, closing his eyes as he submerges to his neck in the steaming, bubbling water that looks like it might be infested with piranhas.
Great, I think, rolling my eyes.Let’s all stand around and watch Dracoth enjoy a nice hot bath. Why not?
“Is it really that hot?” Sandra asks, reaching a hand through the thick, hazy vapors toward the water.
In an instant, Dracoth jolts upright, snatching Sandra’s hand mid-air. “Foolish female!” he roars, sending water splashing—some landing on my hand. I flinch in horror, bracing for pain that never comes. Instead, the water feels... pleasant. Like warm milk.
He’s such a liar; the water’s fine!
“Do you seek to strip the flesh from your bones?” he thunders, still gripping Sandra’s hand. Her mouth moves but no sound comes out, either from fear or because Dracoth, now standing, looks like a glistening mountain of rippling red muscle, somehow making this room hotter.
