Day Seven-Forty-Nine: Let's get outta this joint

“Psst. Logan.”

Logan grunted. He rolled over on his cot, trying to find a spot that wasn’t lumpy.

“Logan? You there?”

“Fgggrblr.” Logan snored, burped, farted. Had he been awake he might have been impressed.

“Logan. C’mon. Wake up.”

Logan didn’t wake up. Not until somebody poked him in the face.

It was the middle of the night, as far as Logan could tell. The prison was not below the ground, as in most fortified structures, and light filtered through the occasional window during the day. There was no light now save the distant twinkle of a torch, somewhere down the corridor. He sat up, suddenly alarmed - 

- and a big, smooth hand slapped over his mouth. A finger rose in a ‘shhh’ motion.

Forcing calm, Logan looked into the face of his cell’s fellow occupant. It was Fynn, towering, clumsy Fynn, his face illuminated by a ball of light so minuscule that it took Logan a second to even notice it was there. A faint aura danced at its edges, but it was so slight that Logan couldn’t discern its colour. 

He pushed Fynn’s hand away, peering behind the stooping boy. The wall between their cells had, somehow, been removed, neatly formed as two big piles of bricks on the floor of Fynn’s cell. Logan goggled at them, noticing that the bricks were utterly undamaged even in the dark.

“I got out,” Fynn whispered, pointing to a heap of metal near the bricks. “See?”

“Yeah, I see,” Logan whispered back. “Huh. I thought your magic… and your muscles…?”

Fynn shook his head, his long hair flopping about crazily. “It stopped. Whatever was in those cuffs sealin’ my magic, just… poof! It went away maybe ten minutes ago. I think it was ten. I’m not so good at counting.”

Shit yes. Logan patted the boy on the shoulder. “Won’t ask how you did that with the bricks, dude. We gotta get everyone out of here. Think you can bend the bars? Without making noise?”

Fynn nodded, but he seemed to fold up into himself, crouching away from Logan. It was a startlingly juvenile gesture, and reminded Logan just how young Fynn really was. “I… yeah, I can, but…”

Biting back impatience, Logan forced himself to remain calm. Just a kid, just a kid. “What is it, Fynn? C’mon, tell me quick. Before someone notices.”

Fynn rubbed his arms for a moment, eyes darting back and forth, obviously conflicted. Then, swallowing hard, he pointed at the pinprick of light. 

“It should be brown,” he said. “It was always brown before. Not now, though.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, staring hard at the light. “I… I’m not sure I get it, Fynn. You mean the edges?”

“Yeah. It’s… I think it’s a bad colour.”

Logan’s heart sank. He waited for Fynn to get to the point.

Fynn’s finger wiggled the slightest bit. In response, the hovering orb expanded, shedding more light on the cell. It ballooned to the size of an apple, and as it grew its indistinct aura grew with it - a subtle, but instantly-recognizable, Non green.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

And that’s when the dragon crashed through the wall.