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The tremors died off with a low rumble. Dust filled the dark tunnel, obscuring the bouncing of pebbles and rocks dislodged from the earthquake. Bahamut pushed off from the ground, centering his weight upon four shaking legs. The adolescent dragon swallowed, drew in a ragged breath, and forced the first step forward. Every step taken lessened the weight cast by chains of fear. He had to keep going forward, get out of the tunnels and to the surface. It would be safer on the surface, where the walls and ceiling would not collapse. A tree would be much easier to dodge than a ceiling caving in.
The tunnels wound on and on, marked on occasion with strange symbols he knew the Dwarves used to guide humans. He could not read them, of course, but he could use them to guide him... somewhere. Anywhere was better than the dark, cold, damp tunnels. Time was impossible to tell down here, the only light came from glowing lichen cultivated by the Dwarves. After an eternity, Bahamut collapsed to his belly with a defeated snort and closed his eyes. The tunnels were too long, too windy. How would the humans even survive getting to the safe havens? Were the stone men even aware of the constraints of the beings of flesh they were to safeguard through this armageddon?
Bahamut's muscles stiffened, a ripple ran through his scales. His eyes shot open, a new wave of fear washed over him. A shadow moved across the tunnels ahead, large and distinctly dragon shaped. Hope welled in his chest. Another dragon survived! An adult at that, from the size! He lept to his feet and ran. "Wait!" He called, determined to rejoin his kin. No matter how fast he ran, the shadow was always ahead of him, just in sight of the next turn or corner. Finally, he stumbled through the threshold of a large chamber, a breathless plea for the dragon ahead of him to wait. There was no one, nothing but jugs and square containers. Confused, Bahamut padded into the store room. He sniffed at the stone squares, then nudged the lid off of one with his nose. Cured meat rested within, nestled on dried straw. His stomach growled at the prospect of food. How long had it been since he had last eaten? Before the twin micro dragons had lead him to safety? And yet, he was not hungry. But he was thirst, so thirsty.
Inspection of the jugs yeilded what he longed for; stale but clean water. He eagerly gulped down two before circling the room. There was no sign of the dragon who had been ahead of him. Then... a ghost? A shiver ran up his scales. There was no such thing as ghosts! It had to have just been his imagination. Yes. That was it. A figment of his imagination; conjured by fear, lonliness, and thirst. He yawned, then settled on a pile of rough skins he had found tucked back by the shadows. He dare not look deeper into what they were, for fear they would be that of kin. The Dwarves weaponized every bit of the dragons they killed. They smelled of dragon, but it could only be lingering scent. Dust and aged leather were what he smelled primarily upon them, and the apocalypse had only been going on for a few weeks. It would be impossible for the skins to smell so old yet. Perhaps they had been taken by the Dwarves from the leather stocks the dragons had used for the humans. Comforted by his logic, Bahamut's eyes drifted closed and soon, the exhausted adolescent found sleep.
A voice in his ear woke him. He started awake, claws flexed and dug into the leather as he looked around. There was no one. A trick of the mind? His breathing slowed and quieted. Faint echoes of voices rang through the cavern. Bahamut backed up into the shadows of the store room and hunched down, making himself as small as possible. Three men entered the room, heavily muscled, dressed in metal and leather. One pushed a cart along, stacked with wooden crates. They chattered away without a care in a language that Bahamut did not recognize. Humans! Excited, Bahamut left from his hiding place and bounced toward them. "I am so glad to see you! I've been alone in these tunnels so long-" his excitement died as he drew close enough to make out their facial features.
Thick broad features, stocky builds, and hair that was just wrong for a human and smelled of moss. Dwarves! But they were flesh? He froze in the light as the trio stared at him, then reached for their weapons. The spoke at him, threatening him with axes and hammers. Bahamut was forced back. Tears welled in his eyes. All that work to survive and he'd die here, killed by a new version of the creature sent to wipe them off the planet by their own ancestors. "Please," he begged and curled down against the cold stone wall, "I don't want to die..."
The Dwarves froze, their advance halted. Their eyes widened in terror, raising from their prey to the wall above him. Bahamut tilted his head in confusion, then glanced upward. The long neck and head of a large dragon extended from the shadow. It was as if the shadows themselves were taking form, birthing shoulders, then two claws, a chest, pitch black wings, and on until a whole dragon, twice the size of a full grown dragon stood over Bahamut like a protective parent. It spoke in the same language as the Dwarves, then opened it's maw. Without even drawing breath, it spewed forth a roiling cloud of dark fog that washed over the dwarves as they turned to flee. Bahamut heard the dwarves hit the ground in a cocophany of metal and fleshy slaps. Bahamut remained still until the cloud dissipated, revealing the unconscious bodies.
"They will be missed soon. Come, we must escape. Hold your breath, little one."
Bahamut glanced back at the pitch dragon, his eyes wide in awe while it backed into the stone, melting into the shadows. He glanced back at the dwarves, shuddered, then stood and backed into the wall with hesitation. He drew in a deep breath, chest full of the war of fear and hope within as his expectations were shattered. His tail sunk into the shadows where he expected stone. It felt as if ice water washed over him little by little until it engulfed his snout. A large blue flame floated around him before it lead him past three white flames on the floor to freedom.
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