Page 53 of Echoes of Fire

I bared my fangs. “Ready to end this.”

The crowd of Drakarn who had gathered to witness the duel stood in a loose circle, their scales glinting in the light of the heat crystals embedded in the cavern walls and coming through the sky shaft overhead. Their eyes were fixed on me and Zarvash.

I had expected more to make their way from the challenge grounds. Apparently, a simple honor duel was not worth the hike for most.

Pyroth stepped forward, his orange scales catching the light as he moved with the grace of a predator. Crimson swirls in the pattern of his scales seemed to ripple with each step, and his presence commanded the attention of everyone in the room. He was the Blade Dancer, the master of combat artistry.

“Warriors,” Pyroth began, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of ancient rituals. “You stand here today bound by the traditions of our people. This is not a fight to the death, but a test of skill, honor, and resolve. Let the flames guide your blades, and may the suns judge your worth.”

He raised a clawed hand, and the crowd fell silent.

Zarvash smirked, his tail flicking lazily as he unsheathed his daggers. The blades were sleek and deadly, their edges honed to a razor-sharp finish. He twirled them in his claws with practiced ease, the movement fluid and mocking.

I drew my lava-forged swords, the white-hot edges glowing as I settled into a fighting stance. The weight of the blades was familiar, comforting, even if the sword in my left hand was a backup blade, my favored weapon sacrificed to the Mating Challenge.

This wasn’t just about me—it was about Orla, about proving to every Drakarn in Scalvaris that she was mine to protect, and that no one—no one—could threaten her without consequences.

Pyroth began to chant, his voice rising and falling in the rhythm of an ancient war song. The words were older than the city itself, and they carried the history of countless battles fought and won. The crowd joined in, their voices blending as they stamped their feet in an ancient beat. The sound stirred something deep within me.

Zarvash’s smirk widened. “You will lose,” he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’re already bleeding.”

I didn’t respond. Words were useless here. The only language that mattered was the clash of steel and the roar of flames. I tightened my grip on my swords, the heat from the blades searing my palms, and waited for Pyroth’s signal.

The Blade Dancer raised his hand, the chant reaching its peak. The crowd fell silent, tension in the air so thick it was almost suffocating. Then, with a sharp downward motion, Pyroth gave the signal.

The duel began.

Zarvash lunged, moving faster than I expected. He closed in, daggers slashing for my neck. I parried with one sword, the collision sending sparks across the stone. The impact trembled through my arms, but I stayed rooted. I swung my second bladein a counterstrike aimed at his ribs. He twisted clear, a smug grin curling his mouth.

He circled me, wings tense at his back. His footwork was nimble, the daggers an extension of his body. My swords were heavier; I relied on power and reach, but he had speed. He tested me with a quick thrust, then darted away before I could answer. We danced around each other, eyes locked, searching for any opening.

He feinted left. I caught the shift in his stance and recognized the real strike on my right side. Metal screamed as I blocked, but he flicked his tail low, raking a spiked tip across my shin. I hissed through clenched teeth. He was trying to goad me into a rash move.

“Is this all, Flame Heart?” he mocked, voice pitched just loud enough for the crowd to hear. “I expected more from you.”

I let the barb pass, keeping my breathing steady. His arrogance was a weapon I could turn against him.

He came at me again, daggers blurring in a flurry of slicing arcs. I managed to block most, but one found a gap and scored a cut along my upper arm. The burn of pain sharpened my focus. I smashed my pommel toward his face, forcing him back. He hopped away, wings flaring to maintain balance, eyes gleaming with the thrill of combat.

We circled each other once more. The watchers pressed in, hungry for blood and a show. I caught the slightest movement near the edge—Orla, standing with Selene, her posture rigid. I reminded myself she was alive, there, trusting me to handle this. That alone fueled me with savage resolve.

Zarvash attacked again, eyes narrowing. He aimed for my torso in a quick combination, then pivoted to strike at my flank. This time, I caught his left dagger with one blade, hooking his right with the other in a crunch of steel against steel. Our locked weapons screeched. I shoved forward, using my weight topush him off-balance. He hissed and skidded back, tail lashing, regaining control by flaring his wings.

“Going soft?” he taunted. “Or is it your human mate slowing you down?”

That was it. I would kill thekervash.

I lunged, swords blazing in twin arcs. He ducked under the first, but the second sliced a shallow line across his shoulder. He jerked away, blinking surprise. A scowl contorted his features, but he hid it quickly. The crowd rumbled with excitement, boots and claws drumming on stone.

His next barrage came in a whirlwind of steel. I locked one sword with his dagger and blocked the second with the flat of my other blade, but he drove his knee into my abdomen. Air whooshed from my lungs, and I staggered. My tail whipped to keep me upright, but he was already repositioning for another strike at my head. Instinct roared through me. I raised a sword in desperation—he deflected it but lost his angle, forcing him to sidestep instead of landing the killing blow.

I reeled back, gritting my teeth. Blood dripped down my side; the earlier cut on my arm stung every time I shifted. But I saw a flicker of irritation in his eyes—he’d wanted me down by now.

He laughed, breathless. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

I answered by rushing forward. My left blade clashed with his right dagger, and I slammed my shoulder into him, with raw force instead of grace. He stumbled, trying to bring up his second blade, but I spun, driving my tail into his ribs. A wet crack echoed. He coughed in pain and hopped back, favoring his side. My pulse hammered, every muscle shaking with the effort to keep going.

Zarvash tried to mask his grimace with a sneer. His chest rose and fell fast.

---