Page 28

VEGA

Skorai wanted a show? Let him choke on it.

We were barely standing, both bruised and bleeding after a night in the worst kind of cell. Dead center in the arena’s battered circle, surrounded by a dozen guards who looked eager to kill.

Each heartbeat felt like shards of glass grinding into bone. My shins throbbed as sand bit through torn trousers. The suns—because one wasn’t enough on this hellhole—burned down, turning sweat into trails of humiliation.

Dragged here. Yanked like ragdolls. Dumped for the crowd to feast on. Dignity didn’t make it through the gates. All I had left were lungs still sucking air and a pulse too stubborn to quit.

And Zarvash. He was looking at me like he'd burn this place down the second he was given the chance.

We would do it together.

I didn't, for one second, let myself believe that this was the end.

The crowd’s hunger crawled under the sand, clawing at my knees. Screeches, howls, each sound ricocheted off wood, ravenous. All for us. Fresh meat.

Kinsley knelt beside me, her breath rasping. A streak of dried blood and grit slashed her brow—a souvenir from our fight last night. Her jaw locked, eyes steady in that way people pretend they’re fine. I saw the tremor beneath her skin.

Fear, maybe. Or just pure, grinding rage.

She watched me, as if to ask: You said you trusted him. Was that a joke? Are we dead because of you?

No time for words. They wouldn’t save us anyway.

A guard strutted up, not the thug from before, but a blue-scaled brute with scarred jowls and predator eyes. He tossed two spears at our feet. Spears was generous. Sharp-ended stakes, crusted with old blood. Weapons that never got cleaned.

Survive if you can. Bleed if you can’t.

Kinsley’s voice came out dry as dust. “So this is it, huh?”

Nothing I could say wouldn’t taste like ash.

My world narrowed to tunnel vision, sharp and merciless.

I grabbed a spear, hands numb from adrenaline.

Kinsley took hers quietly, like a surgeon clutching a scalpel in a warzone.

Her grip was awkward but firm. She didn’t look at the weapon.

She didn’t have to. We both knew the odds.

Howls rose above us, a storm of scales, teeth, and sweat. The crowd’s need pressed down like a fist on my neck.

Block it out. Focus, Vega. Breathe.

The ground scorched my knees. Every inhale scraped panic’s edge, the air stinking of burnt copper and old blood from past executions.

Guards rattled their shields. Claws flexed, tails twitched. They were dying for an excuse.

And just past the guards was Zarvash. Hope twisted my gut, an ugly, dangerous spark.

Zarvash, taller than nightmares, bronze scales razor-sharp in the sun. Each step calculated, like he was two moves ahead of the violence. Omvar lumbered beside him, a wall of muscle and menace. Even standing still, he bent the air around him.

Omvar leaned in and muttered something. Zarvash flashed a grin that was all sharp teeth. Not comforting. More like a warning: whatever happens, it’ll be real.

My heart stuttered. That cursed flicker of hope again.

We weren't dying today.

I hissed to Kinsley, voice shredded, “When they’re close, hit the guard. Don’t wait.”

Kinsley’s eyes went wide as saucers. She almost spat something, an insult, a curse, maybe just my name, but the chance slipped away.

Zarvash and Omvar were already barreling forward, shoving through the ring.

The crowd felt it too, a rising roar, the air thick with heat and sweat, each of us teetering on the edge of something violent.

I moved without thinking. No plan, no strategy. Just pure instinct, spear up, slamming the blunt end into a guard’s wing. The shock rattled up my arm, but he staggered, just enough.

Then it all unraveled.

Chaos didn’t just break loose, it detonated. Omvar bulldozed forward, ripping a spear from a guard’s claws, snapping it across his knee and driving the jagged end home. Blood sprayed, hot and metallic. I felt it on my skin but didn’t flinch.

Zarvash was a flicker of motion dipping under blows, pivoting, striking fast. His foot came down on a guard’s instep with a crunch that made my teeth clench. The guard barely had time to scream before Zarvash hauled him by his chains, swinging him into another like a wrecking ball.

Kinsley, trembling but furious, stayed low. She slashed her spear behind a scaly knee. Her opponent toppled, his claws grazing her hair as she jerked back. A tail whipped at her legs; she leapt over it, survival instincts stripping the fear from her eyes.

No time to think. Instinct ruled. I jabbed where armor parted, felt the sick give of scales and flesh, then the hot gush of viscous blood. My stomach lurched, but survival shoved the nausea aside. Hands slick on the shaft, grip slipping.

It didn’t matter. Survive now, collapse later.

The guards regrouped, quick and brutal. Drakarn weren’t for show; they were made for this. One swung a mace at Omvar, landing on his thigh. Omvar barely grunted, tore the weapon away, and brought it down on a head. The crunch rang out, a final deadly note.

Zarvash moved like a predator, spear spinning, blocking claws with the flat of his blade. He barked my name, sharp and urgent. I wanted to call back, but there were still too many guards. Kinsley ducked behind me, and we turned back-to-back, forming a circle of steel and defiance.

A spear sliced at my thigh, sharp, burning. Blood ran hot down my leg. I tore the weapon aside, slammed the butt into a guard’s snout.

Crack.

Not enough. I hit him again, higher. His jaw clamped shut with a sick snap.

A shout, Zarvash’s voice, or maybe my own, ripped through the din. A guard rammed me, shoulder to ribs, smashing me into Kinsley. Stars burst behind my eyes. Kinsley snarled, driving her spear under an exposed armpit. The wet, tearing sound turned my stomach.

This wasn't the battle I was made for. That was with blasters and guns, a bit of distance. Or a knife in the dark.

This? This was visceral.

The bodies piled up. Guards, snarling and battered, circled us. Three. Two. Then one, his eyes wild, tail lashing the sand, pure animal fear. Omvar lunged, his arm slick with blood, and twisted the helmet from the guard’s head. A sickening snap. Silence.

I blinked, the world humming in my ears. Blood dripped from my thigh, my legs trembling. Kinsley clutched her side, panting, eyes still fierce.

Zarvash loomed over me, breathing hard, his face streaked with blood and dust. One eye swollen nearly shut. He took in the carnage, then grabbed my shoulder.

His grip lit up fresh bruises down my arm. “Ready to get out of here?”

Omvar laughed, a deep, ragged sound that shook the air. It wasn’t sane. It wasn’t meant to be.

I tasted blood on my lip, grinned despite the pain. I wanted to kiss him. To hold him close and never let go. “We gave them the show. Let's leave before they send in reinforcements,” I rasped.

Omvar laughed again, louder, throwing it at the crowd like a challenge.

Above us, they teetered between horror and awe.

The guards at the arena’s edge froze, caught in their own shock.

But not for long. They’d move; they always did.

And the city would see us, Drakarn and humans, backs against the wall, fighting together.

Zarvash flared his wings and held out a hand. I didn't ask if they would hold. They had to. If not, we were dead.

Trust? I placed it all on Zarvash. No choice. Him or nothing.

Omvar was doing the same, waiting for Kinsley to join him. She glared for just a moment before her gaze darted to the crowd, and she picked her poison.

Omvar it was.

Zarvash wrapped his arms and tail around me and launched himself into the sky.