Page 28 of Pyne

At this moment, the future is uncertain. Who knows what new level of hell Arisha will throw at us? But here, in the circle of Pyne’s arms, with the sweet taste of victory on my tongue and the reminder of his care wrapped around my throbbing hand, everything feels possible.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Pyne

We’re not even given a break. Five standard minutes later, the live audience is murmuring with excited anticipation as Becca and I take our places at our station for the final challenge. My heart is pounding with adrenaline and fear. This is it. Everything we’ve fought for, every sacrifice we’ve made, it all comes down to this moment.

I glance at Becca, seeing my own determination mirrored in her eyes. We both know what’s at stake. It’s not about the prize money, not anymore. It hasn’t been since that first day. It’s about her freedom, the chance for us to build a life together beyond the confines of this twisted game.

Arisha takes the stage, her face a mask of barely concealed anger. “Welcome to the final challenge, contestants.” Her voice is tight.“I hope you’re ready to give it your all because this is your last chance to impress the judges… and the viewers.”

There’s a hint of bitterness in her tone, and I glimpse cracks in her polished facade. Rumors have been swirling that the ratings for the baking portion of the show have been less than stellar, and it’s clear Arisha is feeling the pressure.

When the cameras begin recording, she slips back into her role as the charming host, her smile dazzling and her words dripping with false excitement. “Today’s challenge is a twist on a classic,” she announces. “Each team must create a towering masterpiece of a cake, incorporating winter holiday elements from their home worlds and showcasing the skills they’ve honed throughout the competition.”

My mind races with possibilities, ingredients, and techniques flashing through my thoughts. But before I can formulate a plan, Arisha drops a bombshell.

“However,” she says, her gaze locking with Becca’s, “due to the unfortunate injury sustained by Bimbo in the previous round, Cryosyne health standards dictate that she is not permitted to handle any food items. Pyne, you will be solely responsible for the creation of your team’s cake.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Becca’s face pales, her eyes wide with shock and fear. We both know what this means. Without her skills and knowledge, our chances of winning just plummeted.

Refusing to let despair take hold, I straighten my shoulders, my jaw clenching with determination.

I turn to the cameras and say, “I’ll do my best to make Becca proud.”

Arisha nods, a flicker of something like respect in her eyes. “Very well. Let the final challenge begin!”

The arena erupts into a flurry of activity, teams scrambling to gather ingredients and start their creations. Becca may not be able to touch anything at our station, but she helps me formulate a plan, helping me work to my strengths.

I may not have Becca’s expertise, but I’ve learned so much from her throughout the competition. “I can do this,” I tell her, pretending I believe it. I know failure isn’t an option. Imustdo this to buy Becca’s freedom.

My hands move with a sureness and precision that surprises even me. Becca’s presence at my side, her encouragement and belief in me, are a tangible force, guiding my every move.

“You’re doing so well,” Becca says as we agree on the final shape and color scheme. “You’ve learned so much. I couldn’t be prouder.”

“I had the best teacher.” I spare only a moment to glance at her, hoping she sees that she’s so much more than a teacher to me, then I return to my task.

As time ticks by, my creation takes shape. It’s a towering structure of green and blue, reminiscent of the forests and oceans of Verden, my homeworld. Delicate sugar flowers cascade down its sides, each one painstakingly crafted to mimic thevellatonblooms of my childhood. These were the sacred plants of the winter holidays. We nurtured them all year, yet they only bloomed for one week at the winter solstice.

For the first time in years, I feel a pang of homesickness. I’ve stayed away from my family, believing they would never want to see me again. I dared not hope that my gentle parents would be able to tolerate the gladiator I’d become. But if lovely Becca can care for me, perhaps it’s not crazy to hope my parents could find it in their hearts to welcome me back home.

Returning to the moment, I finish the final piece I’ve been working on. At the very top of the cake, I place a shimmering replica of theDevil’s Playground. The ship and its crew reminded me I have a soul. This vessel brought me to where I am now, and to Becca.

I step back, my chest heaving with exertion, and survey my work. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot. But it’s a testament to how far I’ve come, not just in baking, but in being able to open my heart to the amazing woman cheering me on.

Throughout the many hours of the final challenge, Klst has been snarling and glaring at me and Becca. We’ve ignored his tantrum, but his sister has had to do most of the work while growling at him to get his mind off us and focus on winning.

In a cosmic display of poetic justice, Klst slips on some icing on the floor and his tail hits the table with enough force that their shockingly well-executed recreation of the Crimson Canyons of Sauria Prime slides off the table crashing to the floor in a disaster of cosmic proportions.

The Saurian siblings stare at the mess in horror. Klst’s sister hits him with a solid punch that knocks him back two steps as she storms out of the kitchen arena. Klst glares at Becca, like it was all her fault, then follows his sister with his head down, tail dragging, and shoulders hunched.

As I imagine the network playing karma kicking him in the ass in an endless slow-motion loop, I’m pretty sure my smile matches the one I see on Becca’s face.

The judges make their rounds, their faces impassive as they examine each creation. I hold my breath as they pause before mine, their gazes critical and assessing as each judge breaks off a piece to taste it. A slight rise of an eyebrow, a twitch of a lip, and a barely audible moan indicate they’re surprised and pleased with the taste. Beside me, Becca’s hand finds mine, her fingers lacing with my own. A silent show of support, of unity in the face of the unknown.

Finally, Arisha steps forward, the results clutched in her hand. “The judges have made their decision on the remaining four contestants.” Her voice rings out through the arena.

She announces forth and third places. The tension mounts as it all comes down to the Iridians and us.

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