Page 29

ZARVASH

The day bled out over Ignarath’s jagged skyline as we fled by ruined towers, shattered stone, every broken tooth of the city bathed in bruised purples and sickly gold. The air was thin, dry, laced with grit that scoured my scales. Freedom hung distant and uncertain.

The guards on the wall didn't shoot us down; they were looking for threats from the outlands, not fleeing champions. We made it past them before Skorai had a chance to warn them.

Flight was survival, nothing more. Below us, the desert sprawled in ripples of scarred earth and glassy sand, ancient lava flows coiling like dark veins.

I didn’t dare look back. I could feel Ignarath’s menace trailing us, a tremor in the sky, a whisper of paranoia.

The alarm hadn’t rung yet, but that couldn’t last.

Pain seared through me. Each stroke of my wings carved fresh agony into my shoulder. Weakness was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Vega clung to me, her arms locked, legs cinched tight. Her weight barely registered, but her tension did, sharp as a blade pressed to my side. She stared forward, unflinching, her mouth a hard line, her eyes fastened on the horizon. Not fear; she was made of something fiercer.

To my left, Omvar fought the air with brute strength. His wings battered the sky with heavy, forceful beats. He held Kinsley tight, his arm a steel band across her chest. Her hair whipped in the wind, her fist locked tight, knuckles white.

We skimmed low, hugging dead air. There was no pursuit yet, no horns, no shadows slicing across the stars. Ignarath’s sentries were sluggish tonight, bloated on arrogance. A good night to gamble with fate. One misstep, and we’d be strung up for all to see.

Sweat burned my eyes. I angled us south, drawing on every scrap of knowledge I had of these lands, old patrol patterns, war plans that had never come to pass. My wounds screamed, trails of blood unraveling in the air behind me.

Minutes stretched, each one an eternity. The city shrank. The desert yawned wide, its dunes pitted and scarred. When we reached the point where most escapees faltered, I banked sharply. Vega adapted instantly, her grip tightening, her eyes scanning for threats.

Darkness fell fully, thick and stifling. My muscles quaked, my wing close to giving out. When the next gust hit, a spear of pain drove into my shoulder. I couldn’t push any farther.

“Landing,” I growled. Vega said nothing, just braced for the descent.

Omvar circled, sweat glistening on his scales.

I spotted a stretch of volcanic glass and twisted rock—no soft landings, but no cover for ambushes either.

I angled down, coaxing the last ounce of strength from my battered wing.

My feet hit hard. Pain exploded in my skull. I snarled, forced my legs to hold.

Vega slid off in silence, already scanning the shadows. Omvar crashed down beside me. Kinsley tumbled free, staggered, and dropped next to Vega, coughing on the dust.

Heat radiated off the stone, the night wind a thin, whining breath. Sweat traced lines over my scales. Blood, mostly mine, some from the guards, slicked my side. The air stank of scorched rock.

But we’d escaped. For now.

We crouched there, chests heaving, adrenaline fraying at the edges. Silence pressed in, sharp and heavy. Survival had its own bitter taste.

My wing throbbed, scales sticky with drying blood. Despite it all, I forced myself upright, scanning the horizon with clenched jaws, determined not to show how close I was to falling apart.

Vega was already scouring the perimeter, fingers tracing the earth like it might whisper secrets. She was all soldier now, compact, vigilant, no trace of softness. I watched her, a flicker of resentment flaring at how much I still hurt.

Fine.

“Set watch. No fire. We need to find supplies.” My voice scraped like steel on stone. “There may be traders out here, or a village. We'll need water.” The words were sharp, final.

Vega nodded, no argument. Kinsley dropped to her knees but forced herself up again, piecing herself together. Omvar, massive and unyielding, surveyed the dunes with a predator’s patience. Out here, he seemed almost … tamer. Or maybe just unshackled.

He spoke first. “Your wing’s a wreck. You won't get far.”

I bared my teeth. “I've flown on worse.” A lie. “With luck, it'll mend before something comes to finish us.” I threw the question back at him. “You could've stayed. Ignarath would’ve welcomed you. Drink, women, a fresh battle every night. Why throw that away?”

Omvar’s face was stone. If the question cut, he swallowed it.

Jaw tight, he stared into the night—dark as scorched ash.

Then, his voice flat: “That life was rot. Glory?” he spat.

“Just another fight. Another meal for the sand. Bleed for the crowd, die when they’re bored. Your wings end up as someone’s trophy.”

His gaze flicked to me, eyes old and hollow.

“I saw what the games did. Watched friends die for nothing, slaves butchered for lessons I stopped caring about. I felt nothing but disgust.” He shrugged.

“Then you showed up. Broke everything. Built something from the ruins. It made me remember I could still choose.” His voice dropped. “I wanted to see if there was more.”

I'd never heard him say so much. I wasn't sure if I trusted it. Ignarath wanted spies in Scalvaris. Helping me was a sure way in.

But I would be dead, Vega would be dead, if it weren't for him.

I coughed a dry laugh, hiding my fatigue. “You think Scalvaris will welcome you?”

Omvar’s jaw clenched. “They might. I won't beg.” Another shrug, heavy with weariness. “I have no home in Ignarath. Just ghosts. If there’s a scrap of sanctuary on the other side, fine. If not, I’ll wander.” He meant it. Shoulders braced for exile.

Something in me wanted to spit. Old grudges. Old wounds.

I studied him, the way the shadows clung but never quite swallowed him. He wasn’t an enemy. Not a friend, either. But he’d chosen, when the world had blades to our throats, he’d chosen us, knowing the cost. It was hard to hate that.

“They’ll demand answers. Your blood, your secrets, every scar.” My voice was gravel. “But I’ll speak for you before the council.” Saying it was a surprise even to me. “You have my word.”

Omvar held my gaze, steady, bleak, accepting. “That’ll do.”

The night pressed in. Heat hung heavy, promising nothing but hunger and another grueling day.

No comfort. Not there.

Just survival. For tonight.

I wanted to take my mate and find a secluded spot, wanted to remind myself and her of what we were to one another. But there was no privacy there, no little cave or large boulder we could hide behind and lose ourselves in one another.

We had the darkness. And when she sat beside me, she took my hand in hers.

Comfort. At last.