Shadows stirred in the darkness, silent but undeniable. Emmet watched a muscular man approach from the direction of what had previously appeared to be solid stone, but the illusion had been destroyed. Riette snored loudly from nearby, masking any noises Al'Drakon might have made. She was so peaceful in that moment, and Emmet was happy for her. This was how he wanted to remember her.
Knowing what was coming, he hoped life for her would be easier without him, even though he knew it wasn't true. To make a sound was to wake Riette and most likely result in her death; she would never let him go without a fight, even one she knew she couldn't win. Emmet could not have that on his conscience. Riette meant everything to him. She'd done for him things no one else would have or could have done. She had endured more than any one person should ever have to.
Dressed in full battle gear, Al'Drakon smiled at Emmet. Somehow they had an understanding. Emmet would help them save the world, and they would be nice to his sister. It was enough. Emmet put on his boots and gathered his things in silence.
The warrior's expression showed both respect and surprise. In the end, he held out his oversized, calloused hand. Emmet took it and quietly walked alongside him. A final glance back to Riette left him with a quivering lip and tears in his eyes. The dragon rider let go of his hand and patted him on the back.
Now that the decision was made and their escape nearly complete, Emmet wanted to get on with it. He understood what they needed of him. He was the child who could sense magic. They wanted him to find magic. It was the one thing he did well.
Most conversations held in his presence operated under the assumption that he did not listen, pay attention, or understand, but he heard everything—experienced everything. Sometimes it was too much, and he wished to forget, but he could not. The bright side was that he was almost always underestimated, and he knew how to use that to his advantage—sometimes. In this case, the fate of everything he knew rested on him and the Drakon. The thought made him feel small and woefully insufficient. To ride with the legendary dragon fighting force was something of which most kids in the Midlands dreamed, but now Emmet Pickette was afraid.
The tunnel ended in a place like nothing he had ever seen. A giant cave opened into the night sky. Stalactites hung down from high above. The cavern floor was mostly smooth except for occasional stalagmite clusters polished into swirling spirals. From one wall, moss crept, slowly taking over. Covered in green, a face carved into the stone spewed clear water from its mouth. A pool formed below, ringed with equally moss-covered stones.
If not for other amazing sights, Emmet might have strayed—the urge to explore was strong. The dragons awaiting them resembled Dashiq except they were bigger and less friendly. They wore saddles similar to what Barabas and Tuck rode in, but there was no buggy strapped to the dragon behind those saddles. Emmet was a little disappointed. These dragons carried a cargo of compressed air and munitions. Emmet presumed there were snacks hidden in there somewhere. He had a few strips of dried meat and some hard cheese but little else. He'd be of little use to these men dead, and he assumed the problem would solve itself.
"Dragon!" Emmet said loudly, his voice echoing through the cavern. By the time Emmet experienced the thought, he knew what Al'Drakon would say.
"Be quiet," the warrior whispered in a growl.
After being strapped in, Emmet didn't have to wait long. The dragon took three steps before launching into the darkness. Fires dotted the landscape below, showing just how close the enemy had come. The large dragon turned away from the lights and soared through darkness like a shadow on the wind.
"What's his name?" Emmet asked while chewing on goodies he'd found in his saddlebags.