This story is a flash-fiction exercise based on Brandon Sanderson’s 2020 BYU creative writing class.

Darkor raised his shield to repel the icy drool of the cave mouth. “Princess! Can you hear me?”

As if the cave loathed that name, a roar erupted from its throat, and teeth-like stalactites abandoned the ceiling. Darkor stood tall as crystal shards deflected off his breastplate, but inside his silver armor, he shivered; for he knew he was too late.

An ocean of shadows slithered forth like a tongue. Fear trickled down his spine. With a cry and the flash of his sword, Darkor leaped into the frozen abyss. “Pay for your sins, worm!” The frost dragon beat the ground with its catapult wings and lunged—striking him head on. His sword clattered to the floor.

Its leathery gray neck loomed over Darkor like a tower. He winced. Princess or no princess, this cave would not be his tomb. With a desperate prayer to the gods, he threw himself across the floor and scooped up his sword. As the tower fell over him, he thrusted his blade toward the heavens. A screech. A gurgle. Then deadweight like the corpse of a giant.

Darkor climbed out from under the limp serpent and wiped the sticky blue liquid off his sword. As he rubbed his shoulder, his eyes settled on the cracked shield at his feet. “Seems each year the worms grow faster, or the gods slower.”