“I’ll round ‘em all up and we’ll have a nice, long discussion on vulture mercantilism and unsavory business practices... eh?” Wakefulness and a sounder, if less than keen, mind returned to Gilvan as he answered the Dragon’s first question with the beginnings of a rambling truth that gradually focused itself, “... s’pose we’ll just… all have a grand old time, won’t we? As we’re free to do, [i]fate[/i] be damned.”

He could’ve sworn, although he dared not mention it, the slightest hint of condescension emanating from the dragon’s bound features. It pricked at him, although it did not dissuade him, “And, hey, who you calling a failure? Criminals getting locked up is more… natural cycle, is all. We’ll see the sky again and then, sure, we’ll carry that weight, just you watch.”

The dreamer bristled, his soul alight, “My conviction? The sun, and the moon, the crimson blaze and the cool blue sky. All our freedoms lie beyond the horizon, right? Right?!”

[hr]
Today, Gilvan was feeling too lethargic by far for a prison break. Some voice, full of power and gravitas, reverberated between his temples, and Gilvan’s head ached from the tension. Still, it couldn’t be helped; the moment seldom waited on account of someone’s comfort. 

He retrieved the stone from beneath his ‘bed’, some meager, rickety excuse for hospitality, giving it a toss or two into the air. To calibrate it, or whatever vaguely spiritual nonsense athletes believed in. 

And then, as he lofted the stone one final time, he [i]rose[/i]. His body twisted in the air, leg first - the rest of him following - to strike upon it with a furious [i]crack[/i]. 

The stone curved between the bars of his own cell, and smashed against the padlock of the cell opposite, before ricocheting back from the force. 

It began.