Page 24

“You admit you know something, then,” he says, voice soft but sharp as a blade.

“No, I?—”

But the Maulavi only smiles.

In my heart, I realize this was never about the Zmaj. This is about control. About breaking me. About reminding me that in this place, mercy is weakness. And still, as I look into the warrior’s burning eyes, I know I cannot break.

The air is thick and oppressive, as though the walls themselves press in. The Zmaj’s eyes lock onto mine. Steady, burning. Even now, bound, tortured, and bleeding, he’s a force of nature, refusing to bend. Refusing to let me be swallowed whole by this place.

The tremor in my chest isn’t just fear anymore. It’s something deeper, something that smolders in the pit of my stomach and leaves my limbs weak. The way he strains against the iron biting into his wrists, the way his teeth clench as blood drips from the fresh wounds along his ribs, he fights like my life is worth everything.

“You will not touch her,” he growls, voice ragged but fierce.

The Maulavi looks from him to me then back. A slow smile spreads over his face but there is no humor in it. I’ve never seen a smile so cold, so empty of anything but the darkest of intent. The Maulavi gestures, a lazy motion of his hand, an almost dismissive wave.

The two guards tighten their grip on my arms. So tight it feels as if they intend to break my arms. Across the room Z’leni frowns, his jaw tightening, but despite the tension, he doesn’t move. Silently I plead with my eyes, or try to as they drag me towards another device in the corner. A grotesque iron cage set with jagged, rune-etched bars that looks like it rises out of and is almost part of the shadows. I twist against the guards’ grip, but their claws are unforgiving.

“No,” the Zmaj roars again, muscles bunching, chains creaking under the strain. His eyes flash, wild and unrelenting.

“Enough,” snaps the Maulavi. “You cannot save her.”

A low growl rumbles from Z’leni’s chest. He steps forward — not fast, not loud — but the guards immediately stiffen, hands tightening on their weapons.

Z’leni.

The air sharpens, like everyone just realized there’s a predator in the room.

There’s something calculated in his measured breath and there is a storm brewing in his eyes. His sharp black armor blends with the shadows, but his presence cuts through the tension like a blade.

“She is not meant for this,” Z’leni says, his tone soft but edged in steel. “You jeopardize the Shaman’s purpose.”

One of the guards shifts his weight, a half-step forward—then freezes, uncertain. His gaze darts to the Maulavi, waiting for a cue that doesn’t come. No one moves. The tension cracks like ice underfoot. Even the Maulavi’s amusement falters.

“You presume to know the Shaman’s purpose, warrior?” The Maulavi’s voice slithers like oil.

“I know his purpose is not to break what is needed whole.”

For a heartbeat, the chamber holds its breath. The Maulavi tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

“And yet…” he says, circling around me like a vulture, but there’s something different in his gaze now. His eyes dart between Z’leni and me. Z’leni steps subtly closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. His stance is relaxed but undeniably ready.

“If you damage her beyond reason,” Z’leni continues, “we gain nothing.”

The Maulavi hums, a sound too casual for a man who moments ago watched suffering with bored delight. He meets Z’leni’s gaze without flinching but I couldn’t say who’s in control right now. Finally the Maulavi turns away from Z’leni and walks across the room.

“Very well. Take her to the lower chambers.”

The guards’ grip loosens but doesn’t release entirely.

My pulse races. I glance back at the Zmaj, still pinned, his chest heaving as blood drips steadily to the floor. Yet his gaze never leaves me. His eyes burn, wordlessly shouting the things neither of us can say.

But then I glance at Z’leni. His posture is stiff, controlled. There’s something protective in the way he watches the guards manhandling me. Something territorial. As they drag me toward the exit, Z’leni silently falls in behind them.

The Maulavi returns his attention to the bound Zmaj.

“Do not fret,” he says with chilling ease. “You will have your turn.”

As the heavy door slams shut behind me, Ryatuv’s defiant eyes find mine. His gaze sears into me, a burning brand I feel in the hollow of my chest. I swallow hard, pulse hammering against my ribs.