Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
The sun hung low over the Ascension Grounds, casting golden light across the training fields and turning the morning dew to steam. The smell of hearth bread and tea lingered in the air, but the warmth didn’t reach us, not with the mood hanging so heavy.
Zander stood like a statue on the balcony of Crownwatch, his arms folded tight across his chest. Cade stood beside him, murmuring something low and clipped, but Zander’s eyes weren’t on him.
They were on me.
He hadn’t looked away since I stepped onto the field.
After Rubin’s fiery death, Zander had been the one to intercept Siergen and me, cold, calm, already spinning the tale to keep us from being court-martialed.
According to the official report, Rubin had attacked Tae and me after ambushing a palace guard.
Our presence in the lower levels had been passed off as responding to the threat.
A clean lie. A necessary one.
But Zander hadn’t forgotten what really happened. And he sure as hell hadn’t forgiven it.
Sometimes I wondered if that particular royal could be satisfied with anything or anyone.
The squads stood at attention in two perfect lines. Thrall Squad beside me, our leathers buckled and blades sheathed, the morning light glinting off buckles and steel. Our dragons waited at the far end of the field behind the boundary line, unmoving, solemn.
They weren’t allowed to help us today.
Major Ledor stepped forward, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Today,” he called out, “you will complete the Blackbind Run.”
A ripple of tension passed through the lines.
The Blackbind wasn’t a flight course, it was a ground gauntlet, brutal and infamous.
Squads would race against each other across uneven terrain filled with physical traps, spell-based illusions, and live combat obstacles. No dragons. No powers. Just grit, instinct, and teamwork.
The dragons would wait at the finish line.
And whether we reached them bleeding, broken, or triumphant was entirely up to us.
After Major Ledor’s order, we mounted our dragons in silence. The usual rush of pre-flight adrenaline tempered by something colder. Anticipation. The name Blackbind hung over us like a storm cloud, and no one spoke as we buckled into saddles and tightened straps.
Kaelith shifted beneath me, wings half-unfurled, her tension a mirror of my own.
You will complete the run, she whispered.
Sure, I replied.
With a single signal from Major Ledor, we took to the skies.
The roar of wings split the morning calm as squad after squad rose into the air. The wind bit against my cheeks, but the sight below stole the chill from my breath.
The Hallow.
A stretch of dense forest cloaked in layers of ancient magic and deeper shadows. No one entered it without permission, not even guild officials. Wards woven into the roots and leaves shimmered faintly as we passed overhead, parting just enough to allow our dragons through.
Then we saw it.
The Blackbind Run.
Set in a deep forest basin hidden from the world, the course looked like a battleground sculpted into nature itself.
Massive stone combat rings were scattered like islands across the terrain, each one large enough to host full-out melee bouts.
Some rings shimmered with defensive enchantments.
Others had deep pits around their perimeter, losing meant more than bruises.
Interspersed between the rings were obstacle zones, narrow trench runs flanked by twisting bramble walls, areas rigged with pressure-triggered rune traps, collapsing bridges over rushing water, and open clearings meant to draw squads into direct confrontation.
Illusion fields shimmered across the center of the course, flickering like heat waves. No one knew what lurked within them. That was part of the trial.
It wasn’t just about endurance.
It was about strategy.
It was about survival.
Kaelith growled softly as we circled lower, her wings tightening.
I do not like leaving you alone here, she said.
You won’t be far, I reminded her. Just meet me at the finish line.
We landed at the northern edge of the basin, the soil damp and dark beneath our boots as we dismounted.
Our dragons peeled off silently, one by one, wings folding as they retreated toward the final ridge, where they’d wait.
Watching.
Unable to lift a single claw to help us.
And the moment their shadows vanished into the mist, I felt the burden of the course press down.
This was Blackbind.
All the squads stood in formation at the edge of the Blackbind course, the earth beneath our boots soft with mist and the scent of pine heavy in the air. The forest surrounding the basin was quiet, like it too was holding its breath.
We waited, weapons at our sides, armor fastened tight, the nerves beneath our skin humming with anticipation.
I scanned the gathered teams, my eyes catching on familiar faces. Riven’s easy confidence, Cordelle’s focused frown, Naia shifting on her feet like she was ready to sprint. But it was the cluster of Crownwatch riders that made me freeze.
Zander stood with them.
Not in front of us. Not giving orders.
With them.
And that was when I realized, he wasn’t leading anyone today.
He was competing.
Part of the game, not above it.
Before I could linger on the sting of that truth, my gaze drifted to the Warborn line… and found him.
Remy stood near the front, talking low to Major Ledor. I couldn’t hear the words, but the subtle stiffening of Ledor’s shoulders, the curt nod, whatever Remy said had weight.
I didn’t like the way his eyes flicked toward me right after.
Major Ledor stepped forward, his voice carrying over the crowd. “There is no leadership in the Blackbind Run. You act as squads. No dragons. No commands from above. Coordination is your only lifeline.”
He glanced toward Thrall Squad, and my heart sank as his next words landed.
“Thrall Squad is the smallest. You will pair with Warborn for this run.”
I felt the energy shift beside me. Jax stiffened. Riven cursed under her breath. Cordelle let out a long, slow exhale.
“Iron Fang,” Ledor continued, “you have the most members. You will oppose one another. Crownwatch will compete against Stormforge.”
There was a short pause, and then—
“The winning teams will be granted leave this evening to visit the village.”
That earned cheers. Claps. Smirks from Iron Fang, wild grins from Stormforge.
But not from me.
Because my squad had just been paired with the last people I wanted watching my back.
We were directed toward the Warborn camp boundary, where riders were already lining up. As we approached, Remy stepped away from his group, matching my stride until he was walking right beside me.
“I’ve missed you, Ashlyn,” he said, low and intimate.
I didn’t look at him.
Didn’t need to.
Because whatever this was, it wasn’t about missing me.
It was about control.
About proximity.
About a war that wasn’t being fought on the field.
We launched onto the course one by one, boots slamming into damp earth as the war horns sounded, echoing across the Hallow like a call to battle.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I sprinted forward, the dense trees parting just enough to allow the narrow path of the Blackbind Run to unfold before me, twisting turns, sharpened branch traps, sudden drops into illusion pits.
I ducked beneath a low-hanging vine, vaulted over a trench, and slid beneath a swinging log laced with thorned vines.
Only ten seconds in—
And I knew I wasn’t alone.
Footfalls thundered behind me, and a voice, far too smug for the effort he should’ve been exerting, called out, “Going somewhere, white-hair?”
Perin.
Of course.
I didn’t waste my breath answering.
I surged forward into the next section, a rotating bramble wall that spun slowly, vines laced with barbs, the platform shifting as you climbed. I leaped, fingers digging into the notched grooves, legs scrambling for purchase. The vines scraped my arms, but I was halfway up when—
Pain burst through my scalp.
Perin had grabbed my braid.
He yanked hard, and I gasped, my grip slipping on the twisting stone and thorn. My left foot lost purchase, but I snarled and held on with both hands, refusing to fall.
There were no rules in Blackbind.
Only the finish line.
And Perin knew it.
Casualties were expected. Encouraged, even.
He’d found his excuse, and his opportunity for revenge.
“You should’ve stayed off the course,” he hissed, trying to yank me down again.
“Still obsessed with getting beat by a girl?” I snapped back, my voice shaking with effort and rage.
I twisted, kicked, and caught him in the ribs. It wasn’t enough to knock him off, but it loosened his grip.
I scrambled over the last crest of the wall and dropped into a roll on the other side, boots thudding into the mud.
But I didn’t get far.
A glowing ring materialized ahead, a combat circle.
One-on-one.
I skidded to a halt as Perin landed across from me, grinning like he’d already won. He cracked his neck, drawing his short sword with practiced ease.
I reached for my own blade, breath tight in my chest.
The rules of Blackbind were cruel, simple—if you entered a combat ring with another competitor, you didn’t leave until one of you couldn’t stand.
And of course it had to be him.
We began to circle, mud squelching beneath our boots, eyes locked.
This wasn’t a spar.
This wasn’t training.
This was personal.
Perin lunged first, no hesitation.
His blade flashed toward my ribs, a thrust meant to kill, not slow. I twisted just in time, the edge grazing my armor, slicing leather but not skin. He spun, fast, relentless, another strike arcing toward my shoulder.
He wanted me dead.
I met him blow for blow, my sword singing against his with every parry, every deflection. Mud splashed around our feet, our boots slick with it as we slid through the narrow ring. The illusion dome around us flickered faintly, locking us in a world of crackling tension and bloodlust.
“You always thought you were better than me,” Perin hissed, teeth bared as he aimed a brutal cut at my thigh. “But you’re just another fae bastard hiding behind a dragon.”
I dodged, fury rising, heart pounding with every word he spat.
He feinted left, then cut right.
I wasn’t fast enough.
Steel kissed my wrist, hot and sharp, and my blade dropped from my hand, clattering to the muddy ground.
My breath caught.
Perin raised his sword.
And I screamed inside.
Not in fear—
In power.
Lightning shouldn’t have come. The wards should’ve smothered every spark.
But something snapped inside me. The pain. The fury. The injustice of it all.
A blinding bolt erupted from the sky, arcing out like a whip of pure light. It struck the center of the combat ring and eviscerated it, stone exploded, sigils disintegrated, mud turned to ash in a heartbeat.
Perin and I were thrown back like rag dolls, skidding across the smoking earth.
I hit the ground hard, gasping, my arm burning, but I rolled to my knees, dazed, vision flashing white.
Perin groaned and tried to rise, only to be slammed back down by a blur of shadow and steel.
Zander.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t warn.
He attacked.
His blade moved like vengeance incarnate, slicing through Perin’s defenses with terrifying precision. The rage in his face wasn’t cold, it was fire, his entire body taut with the promise of death.
He straddled Perin’s chest, blade poised over his heart.
“Zander!” I yelled, staggering to my feet. “Stop!”
He didn’t.
But Remy’s voice cut through the haze. “Zander, enough!”
Boots thundered around us, Warborn and Iron Fang riders sprinting into the broken ring, weapons half-drawn, eyes wide.
Cordelle reached me first, helping me up, his mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear him over the roar in my ears.
Zander’s blade hovered just inches from Perin’s throat.
His entire body shook.
I limped toward him and grabbed his wrist.
“Zander,” I said again, softer this time. “He isn’t worth it.”
His eyes snapped to mine.
And just like that, he released the breath he’d been holding for what felt like years.
He lowered the blade.
But the war that nearly broke free in that ring?
It wasn’t over.
Remy pulled Perin to his feet. “Perin, as a member of Crownwatch helped our team, we are disqualified. Iron Fang wins.”
Perin stared at me with pure hatred, and while his team cheered, he didn’t.
Warborn was visibly pissed.
They didn’t say it, not in front of Remy, but they didn’t have to. I saw it in the tension of their shoulders, the way they looked at us like we were poison. The air was thick with resentment, and every glance they threw our way was another dagger we didn’t need in our backs.
Tae stayed near me, his body stiff. Riven crossed her arms and stared off toward the trees like she couldn’t care less, but even she felt it. Cordelle didn’t bother hiding his scowl, and Naia looked like she was two seconds from throwing hands with anyone who so much as breathed in our direction.
They blamed us.
Because Zander had intervened. Because the course had gone to hell. Because the fight between Perin and me had nearly brought the whole thing crashing down.
And still—
Zander had finished the run. With Crownwatch. And they’d beaten Stormforge without him for most of it.
Because of course they had.
No one said it outright, but I saw it in every Warborn scowl—We’d cost them the win.
I didn’t think Zander’s actions were against the rules. Technically, there weren’t any, not in Blackbind. The only rule was win.
But interference from someone outside the ring? That was an unspoken line.
And Zander had crossed it for me.
Remy stood silent, unreadable, jaw tight as he watched the tension simmer around us. No one would confront us. Not while he was nearby. But I knew the second we were out of his shadow, Warborn’s patience would be gone.
Still, when the horn sounded and we were released from the course, I didn’t linger.
I turned and walked toward Kaelith.
She stood tall at the edge of the ridge, regal and unbothered, the late light casting violet gleams along her scales. She lowered her head slightly as I approached, her golden eyes meeting mine like a question, and an answer.
I climbed into the saddle and settled against her spine, my breath still ragged from the fight.
How did you do it? I asked silently. The wards were supposed to stop magic. I shouldn’t have been able to summon anything.
Her answer was immediate.
I decide when you die.