Page 6

ZARVASH

Stepping up to the Ignarath gates was like reopening a wound that never finished festering.

The air there stung, heat and dust smeared over burnt sugar, old blood, and that acrid, animal tang I’d never scrub from memory. Every breath brought it back: the sleepless cycles, the violence, the weight of a city that devoured the weak and spat out bone.

I’d been young once and eager to prove myself. After limping my way out of the champion’s arena, I had sworn never to come back.

And today, I walked right into its gullet, parading my “alien prize” for all to see. Every set of eyes was a knife, itching for weakness, daring me to forget I was nothing but prey dressed in a predator’s skin.

Nothing had changed. The towers still clawed at the scorched sky; sandstone stacked with the haphazard pride of a people who couldn’t build a straight wall if you paid them in gold.

Banners snapped in the wind, brash and bloodstained, clan marks burned in by generations of grudges.

Even decay was defiance here, rot worn like armor.

Ignarath didn’t bother with modesty. The city would have you worship its hunger or be devoured.

Vega caught the scent of danger, just as I did. Her posture tensed, spine straight, eyes sharp, every line screaming “not slave” even as the satchel strap tied around her wrists displayed submission for the crowd. Not really tight. Just tight enough for show.

Only someone searching for the crack would see the steel behind her mask, the jaw that wouldn’t yield, the flick of focus beneath her lashes. Stupidly brave, or bravely stupid. Hard to tell there.

At the city walls, the scrutiny thickened until it pressed against my scales, close and suffocating.

Drakarn guards slumped in the shade. I jerked Vega close, hard enough to sell resentment, not possession.

This place hated weakness, but it loved a show.

And nothing screamed “target” like a warrior from Scalvaris dragging a prize, too bold, too desperate, too haunted.

A guard loomed, wide as a doorway and twice as ugly, blocking sun and hope. Wings drooped in that slow, deliberate way the practiced killers use to draw you in before the bite. He didn’t bother with politeness. His inspection began and ended with the commodity he assumed I risked everything for.

He sneered, “State your business. No beggars. No gutter trade.”

“Trader,” I said. “I was robbed outside the South Divide. All that’s left is this creature.

” I yanked Vega, hard enough for the onlookers but not for her.

She stumbled, caught herself, snapped me a glare that could salt fields.

“I heard your lot buy rare stock. Pay well for it too, if the rumors are worth half a spit.”

I let my tail flick. Nerves, not bravado. Sometimes that got you killed; sometimes it got you a second look.

He snorted, mouth curling with open disdain. “Long way from Scalvaris, soft scale.” The words bit hard. A soft scale wasn't a warrior, was barely worth his scales. I itched to show him my claws, but Vega wasn't the only one playing a part.

I gave him the slow shrug of someone with nothing left to lose. “Better than feeding scavengers. Maybe your chiefs want something exotic.”

His stare slid over Vega, lingered, teeth bared in a way that made my fists tense. “The council’s had their fill of oddities. I saw two more like her in Beast’s Quarter.”

The words spiked something old and hope-shaped in my guts. I crushed it before it showed. Not now. Not here. “Lost most of my pack to raiders. If those are mine, I’ll reclaim them. Where should I look?”

He shrugged heavily, uncaring. “Search the Blood Pits if you plan to sell. Skorai screens the best prizes before the games. Move along.”

Ignarath and their tournaments. I liked blood sport as much as any other warrior, but this city took it to an extreme. Long ago, I had tested myself on their sands. I still had the scars from that failure. But I was young then. I had no need to prove myself now. Not to them.

Fighting relief and disgust, I tipped my chin, dragged Vega forward into Ignarath proper. I could feel the city’s hunger mounting behind us, anticipation rolling through the streets.

Inside, the stares clawed along my spine.

Markets teemed, hawkers and slavers screaming in sharp words and old fears.

Drakarn children darted, sharp little terrors, slipping between gamblers and vendors with the natural cruelty of the young.

Arrogance and desperation coiled together, fighting for air.

Vega trudged beside me in her makeshift bonds, chin up, eyes burning straight ahead. Every muscle ready for the wrong kind of attention. As if by refusing to shrink she could make the city bow instead.

Crowds pressed close, thick at the plaza where the city prepared for its bloodletting.

Arena banners hung limp in the noon heat.

Workers hoisted new streamers, their hands stained crimson by old dyes.

Vendors hawked memorabilia: stone knives shaped after favored champions, trinkets meant to buy a scrap of another fighter’s glory. The air stank of sweat.

Vega took it all in with hungry eyes. “What are they preparing for? I’ve seen battlefields look less frenzied.”

“The Ignarath Champion’s Tournament,” I said, voice flat as paving stones. “It's an annual spectacle. Warriors come from every territory to battle in the pit. The winner walks away with coin, legend, sometimes a seat at the council’s feast. The rest …” I let the sentence rot at the root.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Let me guess. You tried once, got your tail kicked by a lizard with bigger claws?”

The memory stung. I shrugged. “I was knocked out early. I was young and brash.”

That earned a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. “As opposed to how you're so old and calm now?”

We were eyed with the malice this place reserved for strangers. I led us along the edge, skirting the widest crowds, always aware of how easily two could vanish, never to be found.

She scanned the crowd around us like she was looking for the weak link. “We need to find the humans. The ones that guard mentioned.”

“We just got here; eyes are watching,” I replied. “We need to secure a place to sleep first. We don't want to raise any unnecessary suspicion.”

She bristled, set her jaw. “They've been stuck here for months.” Her frustration bled through.

“If we move too quickly, we'll fail before we start.”

She was silent for three paces, then spoke. “You're not calling the shots here.” She held up her hands. “Don't get confused.”

I almost smiled but didn’t. Not here. “If obeying was your skill, neither of us would be here.”

She shot me a filthy look and set her stride again, chin unwavering.

A shadow split the crowd, and suddenly we stepped into a street quieter than the last—crumbling guesthouses hunched between trader dens and gambling holes, paint flaking to expose rock scarred with ancient graffiti.

A weathered Ignarath female idled at the nearest door, scales a soft pink. She had hard eyes.

I angled toward her. We needed one night’s peace—if Ignarath even remembered the word.

Then a voice like oil over gravel. “Pretty pet you got there, soft scale.”

Vega stiffened. The speaker, a gaudy arena enforcer, scales lacquered to a garish shine, chest crisscrossed with leather straps, loomed in our path. He reached with practiced indifference and clamped thick fingers around Vega’s arm.

I felt something snap in my chest, fear and fury, knotted together with something like need.

For a heartbeat, Vega was all razor instinct, shoulders bunched, eyes wild, murder burning beneath the surface.

She let out a sound too wild for a whimper, too raw for a threat, and the crowd stilled, waiting for blood to spill.

Three seconds: I saw the massacre that would follow. If she fought, the crowd would close like a trap. Claws would flash.

Ignarath demanded theater. Let them see a monster, not a victim.

I lunged, stalking past the red haze in my vision, wings flaring in the narrow street, hunger sharpening every word. I ripped the leash taut, glaring death at the brute.

My growl rolled over the street.

“Touch what’s mine again, and you’ll pay for it in blood, you dog.” I dragged Vega closer, hard, baring my fangs. “She’s not for pawing. Unless you want to test me, back off. I break things that don’t belong to me.”

He let go, making a show of carelessness, but I saw his eyes, a flicker of risk, of calculation. Not worth his time. He flicked Vega a final look, ugly with curiosity, then slunk back into the crowd.

But the city was awake now. Whispers swirled. Spectators leaned in, waiting for more.

I gave them what they craved. Yanked Vega up, made a spectacle of control as I barked, “So much as make a sound again, and I'll muzzle you, prey.” I squeezed her shoulder, enough for the lookers, not enough for a bruise. I hoped.

Bile rose in my throat at the look of absolute hatred in my—in Vega's eyes.

It shamed me. More than I’d admit. But survival here cost dignity. Vega hissed, fury grinding against necessity, but did not resist. Not now. Not with eyes on us.

I shoved her forward, forced open the guesthouse door. The crowd, denied their violence, drifted away, already sniffing for another feast. I kept close behind her, still scanning for threats.

Inside was a dank, cramped room. Shadows layered atop the rot of sweat and old oil. The proprietor, a Drakarn female scrubbed dull with years, appraised us with a glance. My scars. Vega’s bonds. Our exhaustion.

I gave her money we’d taken from the Drakarn who attacked us outside the city, and she slid keys across the desk without question. Up warped stairs we trudged, no words, to a room with one thin window and a door that stuck before admitting us. The single bed would barely be big enough for me.

Only when the bolt clicked shut did the world pause.

Vega whirled, cheeks burning, fists white against the leash. She yanked free and shoved me, hard enough to shake dust from the beams. “What the hell was that? I had it under control; he was nothing.”

I let my eyes close, counted out the weight of breaths, forced my heartbeat to slow. Her rage was a sandstorm, mine a desert, silent and abrasive, scraping everything raw.

“I sold the lie we both agreed to. If you moved against him and I didn't strike you down, we'd both be in a cage now. Or worse. With no hope of finding your precious humans.”

She glared, massaging her shoulder. “Next time, I break his fingers myself and deal with the mob.”

I shook my head. “This place doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

Vega turned her back, jaw tight, posture flickering between pride and pain. Light crawled in through slats, painting fresh lines over the dingy room.

The silence stretched, tension so thick I could bite it. Her anger filled the room, an electric storm itching to strike. My own pulse thudded heavy, echoing with everything I couldn’t afford to name.

I wanted to touch her. To pull her close. My fangs ached. So did my chest. This was the last thing either of us needed, but my entire being cried out to surrender to it.

I'd be a fool to try.

“I'm going to get us something to eat,” I said, searching for an excuse to leave her for just a moment, to give me space to breathe.

Vega's glare burned into my wings as the door clattered shut behind me.