Dragon Delivery Driver

Then, in her darkest moment, Eldric's words found her.

Just as despair threatened to consume her, a faint yet insistent voice flickered in the recesses of her mind. Eldric's spectral form, etched against the encroaching walls, spoke, "Stand firm upon the earth, but always be ready to shake off the dust and walk a new path."

Something was different. Eldric wasn't transparent like usual. He shimmered with an otherworldly glow, a faint golden light pulsing around him. The words resonated deeper than before, echoing in her ears. Not as a voice from the beyond but as a whisper in the blood, a resonance in the bone.

"Stand firm upon the earth, but always be ready to shake off the dust and walk a new path."

The words reached her ears; they enveloped her, a mantra that wove through her being, urging her to rise, to push back against the darkness that sought to claim her.

The realization dawned on her slowly, a sliver of light in the enveloping gloom. The battle she faced was against the shadows that lay within her heart. The walls became silent mentors, their crushing embrace a challenge to confront her deepest fears, acknowledge them, and transcend them.

Catty started singing.

Her song, filled with a power she barely understood, resonated through the narrow tunnel. It battled the silence of the earth. With each note, she felt a surge of strength, a clarity of mind that pierced the veil of her fear.

"It's time to rise, shake off the dust," she sang.

Suddenly, the walls began to pulsate, a slow, rhythmic squeeze that made Catty's skin crawl.

"It's time to rise, shake off the dust," she sang again.

The earth seemed to listen, and its ancient heart started beating in time with her song. The walls, once oppressive in their stillness, now vibrated gently as if awakening from a deep slumber. The air around carried the melody through the tunnel. The earth recognized the power woven into her voice. Pebbles danced across the floor, and a soft murmur filled the tunnel like the whisper of wind through leaves.

"Open your eyes and walk a new path," the earth replied.

The girl perked up and chanted, "The journey's tough, full of goodbyes!"

"But the dawn awaits for one who tries," the earth continued.

She felt the grip around her loosen, the walls halting their oppressive march. Both voices combined and repeated.

"It's time to rise, shake off the dust,
Open your eyes and walk a new path,
The journey's tough, full of goodbyes,
But the dawn awaits for one who tries."

A shiver ran down Catty's spine. Was this a memory? Or something more? Eldric, or perhaps the forgotten magic of the Earth Gateway, was reaching out, pushing the words to the forefront of her mind when the girl needed them most.

She lay there, in the narrow cocoon that had once threatened to be her tomb and found peace. It was the peace of acceptance, of acknowledging that true strength lies in the ability to adapt, to change, to let go of what was, and embrace what could be. The girl embraced this truth, and the earth, sensing this change, responded. The constricted walls began to recede, not disappearing but opening, revealing a way forward. A new understanding of herself.

Driven by a force she couldn't explain, Catty reached out, her hand trembling, expecting the cold surface of the stone. But as her fingers brushed it, they met no resistance. The wall before her, so oppressively close just moments before, was nothing more than a mirage, an illusion crafted to test her resolve, to gauge her strength.

Realizing the barrier was in her mind, the girl couldn't stifle a laugh. She stepped forward and slipped through the illusory wall like it was made of mist—Catty's fear dissolved by her newfound resolve.

Beyond the illusion, the light opened up, a path cleared by her will and voice. The song still lingered in the air, a reminder of the battle the girl had fought and won.

When the song died down and the lights went out, Catty found herself standing in the corridor of the orphanage. Moonlight with danced dust motes filtered through the windows, casting long fingers across the floor that seemed to reach for her.

Portraits and faded photographs lined the walls, their faces barely discernible in the dim light. They watched Catty's passage with silent, judgmental eyes. The corridor seemed to hold its breath as the girl moved cautiously along its length.

The air hung thick, a stew of floor polish and something suspiciously like despair. Catty tiptoed down the hallway, the floorboards groaning like rusted hinges. Each creak echoed in the emptiness, and her breathing sounded loud in her ears.

Catty's heart pounded like a drumbeat against her ribs, so loud in her ears that she feared it would betray her to the night. She knew the corridors as well as the lines on her own hands, but tonight, they were transformed into a labyrinth of tension and fear.

Catty paused, listening. The orphanage was never truly silent; it whispered secrets. Tonight, those secrets spoke of danger.

She could hear the distant, uneven footsteps of a guard, the uneven rhythm telling her he was limping slightly. She knew each guard's walk and could tell them apart by the sound of their steps alone. This was an old goblin with a bad knee and a worse temper.

A cough, muffled by the walls, froze her in place. Her heart skipped a beat, and the girl pressed herself against an alcove in the wall, blending into the shadows. The footsteps approached and passed by her hiding spot. She let out a silent breath of relief, but her body was still tense.

Suddenly, a floorboard groaned under her weight. Catty froze, every muscle coiled tight, waiting for the guard to return.

Ease washed over her as a guttural meow pierced the stillness. A flash of ginger fur darted from the shadows, emerald eyes gleaming in the moonlight. It was a cat, the orphanage's beloved feline terror.

"Hey, Thunder," Catty whispered, cautiously extending a hand. The cat sniffed her fingers, then rubbed its head against her palm, a rumbling purr vibrating in its chest.

The girl moved on, the ginger shadow padding silently beside her.

They reached a heavy oak door, intricately carved with swirling patterns that writhed in the moonlight. The director's lair.

Catty's fingers brushed the cool metal of the doorknob. This was it—the moment of truth. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself.

The girl tiptoed around the director's lodgings, her eyes scanning the moonlit bedroom for any sign of her bracelet. She moved with the caution of a burglar, each step deliberate, each breath held tight in her chest as she navigated among the shadows. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a heavyweight champ going for the knockout when the girl was creeping around the director's room.

Catty had searched every drawer, peeked into every nook, and even lifted the edges of the rugs, hoping to catch the glint of metal or the warm glow she so desperately sought. But the bracelet was nowhere to be found. With each passing moment, her hope dwindled, replaced by a growing sense of fear.

Nothing. The bracelet played a damn good game of hide and seek. Thunder, her feline partner-in-crime, watched from the shadows, its tail a clock ticking to zero hours.

When all seemed lost, Catty's gaze fell upon the figure on the bed. The director slept. The woman lay sprawled across the bed, one arm dangling off the side, the other resting on her chest. And the bracelet was on her wrist, glinting softly in the moonlight.

Catty approached the bed. Each step felt like a lifetime, her heart beating so loud she feared it would wake the Widow. The girl reached out, her fingers hovering inches from the bracelet. The soft glow emanated from it, beckoning her.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Catty's fingers closed around the bracelet. Her touch was light, but it was enough. As her fingers brushed against it, the room seemed to hold its breath. The bracelet lit up, a slow burn that recognized its master. It vibrated with the anticipation of escape, its pulse syncing with Catty's heartbeat. The glow intensified, a warm, pulsing light that seemed to recognize its true owner.

The girl delicately began to ease the bracelet off the director's wrist. Her touch was like a feather's caress, barely grazing the director's skin as she was pulling off the bracelet. The Widow shifted in her sleep, a soft murmur escaping her lips. Catty froze, her heart skipping a beat, the bracelet half-off.

She waited, barely daring to breathe until the director's breaths deepened again. Then, with a final, gentle tug, the bracelet slipped free. Catty cradled it in her hands, feeling its warmth spread through her like a promise of strength and protection.

Catty slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, feeling an immediate rush of energy, a sense of completeness she had known was missing. The moment it encircled her wrist, it came alive, pulsating with a glow that bathed the girl in its light, vibrating with a resonance that spoke of ancient ties and newfound strength. The bracelet began to light up, emitting a soft, pulsating glow. It vibrated gently against her skin, a silent greeting from an old friend.

The room became lighter, and suddenly, Catty saw a picture hanging on the wall at the head of the bed.

This wasn't any piece of art; it was a revelation, a window thrown wide open to a view Catty had never dared to imagine.

She stood, rooted to the spot, her breath stolen by the sight. There was beauty there, but it was a terrible beauty that ensnares the heart and cuts the soul, leaving scars too deep to fathom. It was a portrait of the director in her unguarded splendor—both magnificent and horrifying.

"See me, and know that you stand on the precipice of the abyss of despair," the image seemed to whisper, a siren's call that was both a lure and a warning.

The girl's mind raced, trying to encapsulate the enormity of what hung before her. Shock. Awe. Fear. A vortex of feelings swirled within, threatening to drown her in their depth. Catty had seen the hidden truth behind the veil, which terrified her.

Catty's fingers itched to tear the picture up, shred it to bits, and toss them into the wind. But she couldn't. The portrait held her captive—through the sheer force of what it represented. It was a puzzle that beckoned with its terrible beauty.

Slowly, almost reverently, the girl reached out, her fingertips grazing the frame. The wood was icy to the touch, belying the inferno of revelations it contained. The director looked back at her from the portrait, eyes that knew too much and had seen the depths of the worlds.

Suddenly, the woman stirred, Catty recoiled, and her elbow struck a vase on the dressing table. Her heart leaped to her throat as the girl watched, like in slow motion, the vase teeter over the edge. Instinctively, her hands reached out, fingers grazing the ceramic in a futile attempt to avert disaster. It slipped through her grasp, shattering against the floor with a loud crash—the sound of a shot in the silent room.

The crash jolted the Widow from her sleep, her eyes opening in confusion and alarm. For a moment, she lay frozen, her brain struggling to make sense of what was happening. The shards of the vase scattered across the floor flickered in the dusk. Eerie shadows danced across her bewildered face. When the woman's gaze locked onto Catty, realization dawned, washing away the remnants of sleep. Her expression morphed from surprise to a wave of anger. She sat up, the sheets falling away. The director was now fully awakened and alert, her surprise quickly giving way to a simmering rage at the sight of the intruder by her bedside.

The director's scream pierced the tense air, and her eyes snapped open wide with fury.

"Gotcha, bitch!" the woman howled and grabbed the girl's hands, latching onto Catty like claws.

The yell echoed through the orphanage. It cut through the stillness of the night like a sharp blade. A nearby guard, walking along the corridor, shuddered at the sound. For a heartbeat, he hesitated as if the scream had tethered him to the spot; then, he whipped toward the direction of the noise. His heavy boots thudded against the aged floorboards. Lanterns flickered as he ran, casting long, darting shadows that seemed to chase him as if urging him on faster. His hand gripped the baton at his belt, ready for whatever threat lay ahead. By the time he reached the director's room, another guard had joined him, almost colliding at the threshold, ready to destroy everything that awaited them inside.

They burst into the room. The lead guard, a broad-shouldered and intimidating ogre, stretched his arms toward Catty to seize her in an iron grip. Another stayed at the door, aiming to cut off her escape. Trapped with nowhere to run, Catty braced for the worst.

The Widow pointed and shouted in fury, "There! Get her!"

When the guards tried to close their grasp on Catty, the air tensed around her, and everything changed in a heartbeat. In a flicker of silver light, Eldric appeared—not as the ghost she knew, but almost solid, standing between her and the incoming threat.

He raised his hands, and the room began to pulse with energy. Catty watched as the space around Eldric twisted.

"I've slowed time for them," his voice cut through the dense silence, "but you must act quickly. My strength has its limits."

The guards were dragging through the room; each motion was slow, as if they were swimming through honey. Their hands moved through the air like they were pushing against an invisible force. Slow. So very slow. Catty, her heart pounding rapidly, slipped past them with ease.

"Game on," the girl whispered.

She darted to the left, slipping past a guard's outstretched arm with inches to spare. His fingers grazed the fabric of her sleeve, but Catty was already beyond his reach, moving supernaturally agile in the viscous time bubble Eldric had created.

Then, the ghost swept his arms forward, and a cascade of glowing particles sprang from his fingertips, swirling around Catty in a vortex of light. The particles danced faster and brighter until they enveloped her completely, hiding her from view.

Eldric's form began to fade, his edges fraying into the air, a sign that his intervention was nearing its end.

"Go, now!" he urged, and the spectral figure dissolved into the shadows.

Catty sprinted towards the corridor, her footsteps echoing loudly in the otherwise muted world. As she reached the stairs, she spared a fleeting glance behind, catching the last glimpse of Eldric's disappearing form, his existence flickering out like the last ember of a dying flame.

The girl raced down to the lower floor. The orphanage slept, unaware of the night's turmoil. She ran past the bedrooms, where the children lay in peaceful slumber, their faces calm by the moonlight seeping through the windows.

In the hall, another giant guard stood at the house's exit. His back was to her, unaware of her approach. This time, Catty didn't hesitate. Holding her breath, the girl darted past him like an arrow. She slipped between his legs, sliding along the stone floor, and got through the door into the night before he could react.

The outside air was cool, a welcome relief on her flushed face. The city lay quiet around her. The streets were empty and promising freedom. Catty raced to the maze of buildings.

She heard a crazy scream behind her.

"She's gone!" it bellowed into the house, shattering the silence. Within a moment, the orphanage buzzed to life. All the windows lit up, and the angry guards jumped onto the illuminated sidewalk.

The night thrummed with the thirst of a hunt when the chase began.