Page 25 of Echoes of Fire

The arena’s collective breath sharpened, a break in the rhythm below turning all focus toward the latest fight. A new challenger stepped forward, taller and sharper-edged than the others—his scales jagged and mismatched, singed in a way that made him seem more like something built imperfectly than born.

Krazath.

Eden stiffened at my shoulder instantly, her fingers curling into fists. “Him,” she hissed before exhaling sharply. “That asshole.”

I knew. Recognized him from the corridor, from the temple, from the tension Rath had worn like armor since. My pulse stuttered, uncertainty and rage colliding somewhere too deep for me to untangle. Despite myself, I leaned forward.

“No,” I breathed, watching Rath turn to meet Krazath’s gaze—a fire already sparking in his eyes. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. He entered the space of Krazath’s challenge like it was inevitable, like this confrontation had always lived in their bad blood.

Krazath’s first move was a sweeping strike, the kind meant to intimidate and overwhelm—a predator testing the weak points of his prey. His blade arced through the air, but Rath was already moving, his form a blur of red and shadow, slipping to the side with a fluidity that made Krazath’s lunge look clumsy by comparison.

Rath’s counterattack came swiftly, his blade slicing upward in a motion so precise it seemed choreographed. Krazath twisted away just in time, the edge nicking one of his jagged scales instead of cleaving through flesh. The sound of it—a sharp, metallic scrape—sent a shiver down my spine, and I gripped the bench under me so hard my knuckles ached. Or maybe it was the fight itself, the suffocating tension coiling tighter with every traded blow.

Eden’s voice dropped lower. “He’s claiming you. That’s what this is, right? Showing everyone that you and him …?”

Her words knocked against me sideways, almost disorienting. “That’s … insane.” Part denial, part something that sounded a bit too much like hope.

“Isn’t it?” she said, but her focus was unwavering. “And yet, here we are.”

Rath’s style was deliberate, measured—a predator who wasted no energy. Every flick of his claws, every step forward or back seemed calculated to expose Krazath’s weaknesses. Krazath fought like a storm, wild and frantic, each strike more aggression instead of strategy. His scales caught the dim light, flashing like broken glass as he swung again and again, trying to break past Rath’s cold precision.

When Rath ducked beneath a violent downswing, his wings snapped outward in a sudden motion. It was a feint, but Krazath took the bait, stepping left where Rath’s foot was already planted. Rath spun, low and fast, his tail whipping around to strike Krazath’s shin with bone-cracking force. Krazath stumbled, snarling in frustration and pain as he caught himself on one knee.

“Come on, Rath,” I whispered under my breath, my voice lost in the roar of the arena.

I hated this. I hated watching what looked like a car crash. My throat felt raw already, like I’d been screaming even though I’d been biting those yells back as hard as I could. But beneath my concern, there was a dark, treacherous part of me that wanted Rath to humiliate Krazath, to crush him so completely that whatever thread of malice still tied him to Rath would snap. I wanted—I needed Rath to win, because losing wasn’t an option. Not here. Not with Krazath.

Krazath recovered with a roar, his jagged claws swiping at Rath in a wide arc that forced him back a step. But Rathimmediately surged forward again, blade aimed for Krazath’s ribs. The two were locked in close combat now, claws and fangs snapping as their bodies twisted in a brutal struggle. Rath locked one of Krazath’s wrists in a vice-like grip, twisting with a sharp motion that forced his opponent to drop the secondary blade he’d been brandishing. It clattered to the ground and skidded away into the dirt.

For a heartbeat, Rath’s face tilted upward, and our eyes met.

It was only for a fraction of a second, but the ferocity in his gaze hit me like a tidal wave. It wasn’t hesitation or desperation—no, Rath wasn’t just here to survive. He was here to finish this, to make an example of Krazath.

I couldn’t look away even as my hands trembled, my nails digging into the stone beneath.

“Damn,” Eden’s voice was almost inaudible. “He’s … something else.”

But my attention was back on the pit, my chest tight as Krazath fought back with a vicious headbutt, the crown of his jagged scales slamming into Rath’s cheek. Rath staggered, and Krazath surged forward like a wounded beast sensing weakness. My heart jumped into my throat as Krazath’s blade lashed out, aiming for Rath’s unguarded side.

Rath’s wings flared wide at the last possible moment, snapping him back and away from the attack. Krazath’s blade sliced only air as Rath rose into the space above their clash, hanging there like some radiant, damnable god of war. Then he dove, his descent like a meteor aimed directly at Krazath’s chest. The impact landed with a deafening crack as Rath’s claws wrenched Krazath’s weapon from his hands and sent it spiraling away. The crowd roared, their voices blending into a singular chaos as Rath’s blade pressed to Krazath’s throat.

The fight was over. Everyone knew it. Even Krazath.

It took another few minutes for Rath and Krazath to observe the formalities. Krazath limped away towards a bronze scaled Drakarn who was glaring at Rath. But I couldn’t care about that. Not right now.

I jumped out of my seat and scrambled down the steps towards the floor of the arena like I was some fan at a hockey game back on Earth.

“Rath!” My voice rang out, rebounding faintly off the stone walls of the arena.

Ahead of me, his steps faltered. I watched his tail dip in its usually measured sway, the movement slower now, as though the storm of emotions from the fight below was still rattling inside him. His shoulders remained stiff, wings tucked tightly against him, but tension rolled off him in waves.

I pushed forward, quickening my steps until I’d almost caught him. My fingers brushed the dark fabric of his sleeve—a fleeting touch that made him freeze instantly. His wings twitched, the faint, sharp motion betraying that coiled energy he barely contained.

Slowly, he turned to face me.

And then there were his eyes.

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected—anger maybe. But when Rath looked at me, it wasn’t fury I found crackling behind his gaze. It was something softer, quieter, but no less powerful. A tension of a different sort tightened across the planes of his face, his jaw locked like he was holding back a torrent of words he couldn’t quite put to shape. The intensity of it sent a surge of heat traveling up my spine.

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