My chest tightens at the unexpectedly honest answer. At the thought that he’s trying so hard to save his people that he believes he’s completely lost himself.
I stop and turn to face him. He halts directly in front of me, not an arm’s-length away. “You’re doing a noble, selfless thing. That can’t possibly be the worst version of you.”
His jaw ticks as his eyes travel from my eyes to my mouth, then away from me altogether.
“Let’s keep moving,” he says in a low voice.
The passage winds around, then down a spiral staircase made of dark stone. At the bottom, I push on a black stone wall once more, and it opens with ease this time.
A cool rush of stale air hits my face.
“Bloody damn,” a deep, gruff voice says.
The lighting down here is dim, so I hold my orb out toward where the voice came from. The door opens to a deep corner of the dungeon, where only a couple of cells are spaced out. The dungeon is like a massive, cold, stone maze.
I’ve never encountered prisoners this deep in here in all the years I’ve explored.
A figure sits in the far corner of the cell in front of me, but it’s hard to make out many details.
“Hello?” I call out hesitantly.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I feel Daegan’s presence close beside me.
Then, the figure stands, though he’s not much taller than when he was sitting. He’s wide, though. Burly.
When he gets closer, the light illuminates his wild, coarse yellow mane of hair that falls down his back, his matching wild beard, and his rosy cheeks.
He looks… surprisingly kind, with his pink cheeks and his warm amber eyes.
The grumbling prisoner studies each of us, then lets out a grunt. “Can ya get that bloody damn light outta muh face?” he says, his voice a deep rumble.
I lower it, finding that I can see his face well enough now that he’s close anyway.
“What’s your name?” I ask. For some reason, I’m feeling an inexplainable pull toward the stranger.
He seems to stand taller, puffing out his chest. He’s at least a head shorter than me. “Gaethri of Dothron.”
“You’re a Dothronite?” I ask. I haven’t met one in years. They’re not seen outside of their mountains often.
Come to think of it… we don’t see a lot of most other kinds nowadays…
Gaethri nods with somber pride. Dothronites are smaller, burlier beings. He may even be on the larger side for his kind, if my estimations are correct. Most of them live under the mountains of their region, and they’re known for crafting weapons. A small tribe of them live just outside the mountain in the woods, and they’re said to be smaller and more elusive. They’re also known for being incredibly intelligent.
“Forgive me, but… what are you doing down here?”
“Ran his mouth one too many times, I’d say.” I jump as another voice joins us from the dark corners of the cell across from Gaethri’s.
I’m pretty sure Daegan tries to suppress something like a chuckle.
A female emerges from the shadows. A very, very, large female. She’s taller than Daegan, but not by a huge amount. His head probably ends below her nose, I estimate as I watch her. And her full, vibrant, red, unruly curls that seem to have a life of their own make her appear even larger. She grabs her bars and rests her brow against them, studying us with mild interest. Her eyes are slightly wrinkled at the corners.
“You’re a Skeldaryn,” Daegan says with a hint of disbelief. It’s his turn to be surprised now. “Or… a half Skeldaryn?” The people from Skeldar are tall. Very tall. They used to simply be referred to as giants thousands of years ago, but they didn’t appreciate being called that.
I’ve never once seen one in the flesh.
She scoffs. “You’re either from Skeldar or you’re not.”
“My apologies,” Daegan says. I look over at him and he seems to be nodding his head in a respectful apology.
