Page 167 of A Fate in Flames

The roar from the pits was like that of a living beast, shaking the very foundation we stood on.Hundreds of bodies crushed against the balcony, elbows jabbing into ribs and shoulders grinding against shoulders.Someone nearly tumbled right over the edge, caught only at the last second by grasping hands.

I glanced sideways at Mira, confusion written across my features, but she only tightened her grip on my arm and pulled me closer.Her lips curved into a knowing smile.

My stomach twisted in anticipation.

“You’ll see.”

She began cutting through the crowd.

I held my breath as we wedged between sweating bodies, suffocating until we finally claimed a spot against the rough railing.The stone was warm, heated by the sun and the collective fever of the crowd.

When I looked down into the pit, my jaw went slack—every coherent thought fleeing my mind.

I whipped around to face Mira, whose lips lifted in satisfaction.

There, standing in the centre of the pit like some ancient warrior, wasBelshin.

The setting sun painted him bronze and shadow, every angle of his body carved sharp against the dying light.Gone were his usual flowing robes, and he may as well have been a war statue brought to life—torso hewn from marble, every line of muscle cut clean and precise.Faint veins ridged down his forearms, mapping rivers of strength.Silver hair, damp with heat, lay plastered to his neck in wet ropes, with a single leather tie failing to tame the rest.

Belshin had said he enjoyed the pit.For the life of me, I hadn’t been able to picture it, but witnessing him standing there, barefoot in the dust with the sunset haloing his shoulders, I could finally see it.He looked ready to tear the world in half purely to see how the pieces fell.

Who would be foolish enough to face him?

The roar of the crowd died, as if someone had severed its throat.Hundreds of bodies went ridged, heads swivelling toward the entry arch like flowers following the sun.

Dalkhan emerged from the shadows beyond the arch as though the pit itself had conjured him from darkness.He stopped beside Belshin, the sun’s dying light igniting the bronze of his skin until he smouldered.

Dalkhan’s gaze rose toward the balcony, sweeping over the crowd.

My pulse stuttered when he found me among the sea of faces.When our eyes met, the corner of his mouth curved into a smile that made my knees weak and my core clench with want.

He raised one hand—palm outward—and the arena fell silent.

I leaned into Mira, whispering in her ear.“Is Dalkhan fighting Belshin?”

She made to answer, but her words died as Dalkhan’s voice rolled across the pit like thunder.

“Tonight,” he began, his stance widening and hands clasped behind his back, “skill meets shadow.Wind meets illusion.”

He rotated to face Belshin.“Show them how the sky itself listens when you call.”

Then his eyes slid to the opposite gate, a charge surged in the air like lightning about to strike.“Show them how a lie can cut deeper than any blade.”

I nearly broke my neck twisting to see who he was speaking to.

From the shadows, Jasila emerged in ink-black leathers that hugged her form like armour.At the mere sight of her Tavrik, leaned dangerously over the railing, tracking every step she made.

The light fractured, splitting and bending around her body until three, then five identical Jasilas paced beside her.They moved in perfect, unnerving unison.Illusions so flawless the sun cast five separate shadows on the floor.

Belshin’s shoulders tensed, his stance shifting subtly as he assessed her form with calculating eyes.

Dalkhan lifted both hands.Fire and shadow braided upward from his palms, a crown of violent light that framed him in silhouette.He barked a single, ancient word, and the balcony shuddered in response.

The fight began.

Fuck.

There was no circling.No taunt.Just raw, explosive violence.