Chapter Sixty-Six
In several lands, a brutal spectacle has taken root.
Arenas where creatures are cast into pits, beneath eager crowds.
Among these, the witches were particularly renowned, their arenas whispered of in equal parts awe and dread.
The drakonians, in their ruthless splendour, would set their dragons upon one another, revelling as the great beasts tore scale from flesh in savage duels.
And in the burning reaches of the desert, such cruel festivities were not merely accepted, but celebrated with a fervour as relentless as the sun itself.
Tabitha Wysteria
Kai and Dawn had followed Mareena up to the first floor, where spectators of rank were permitted to watch the fights.
This level was usually reserved for the wealthiest visitors of the city, as well as the royal family themselves.
To their right, King Siroc sat with his son Zaydan and the Saqar, all of them observing the arena below with grave attention.
Each tier of the arena had been fitted with wide cloth awnings to shield the spectators from the sun.
Though, standing so deep within the carved heart of the mountain, Kai doubted such protection was truly necessary.
Still, the fabric stirred faintly above them, casting shifting shadows across the stone.
Below, they watched as Alina circled Saren, the Dunayan speaking as she moved, clearly taunting the Fire Princess with every step.
Even from the first floor it was impossible to hear what passed between them.
Yet when Kai glanced at Mareena, he noticed that the phoenixian princess seemed to understand perfectly well.
Her eyes never left the arena.
Kai suspected she could read their lips.
When Saren forced Alina to the ground and dragged the blade across her face, Kai shot to his feet. In a few quick strides he reached the iron railing that kept spectators from plunging into the arena below. For a fleeting, reckless moment he considered vaulting over it.
His entire body screamed at him to go to her. But he knew Alina would never forgive him if he interfered.
Even so, it took every ounce of strength he possessed not to leap down into the sand.
It was only when Dawn grasped his arm and gently guided him back to his seat that he managed to force himself to sit again.
He took her hand and squeezed it tightly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kai also noticed how Dawn’s other hand had curled into a fist, her nails digging hard into the palm of her skin.
‘What happens if she loses?’ Dawn asked quietly.
Kai still found it strange to look at her in this form, the form of a wyverian woman. A part of him doubted he would ever grow entirely comfortable with it, nor did he wish to. Yet he had grown used to something else entirely: the ease he felt beside her, no matter the shape she wore.
‘She will not,’ Mareena said calmly, folding her hands across her lap with a composure no one else in that arena seemed capable of achieving.
‘And how can you be so certain?’ Kai asked.
Mareena sighed, the sound edged with the familiar impatience she reserved for those she considered intellectually inferior.
‘Phoenixians have always prided themselves on choosing their wars carefully, Kai Blackburn.’
Kai frowned, still not following.
Mareena glanced sideways at him and sighed again, clearly irritated that he had not yet grasped her meaning.
‘My father would not support Alina Acheron,’ she said slowly, ‘if he did not believe she could achieve what she intends.’
‘But your father didn’t support her,’ Kai replied.
Mareena’s lip curled faintly. ‘Did he not?’
‘No.’
She lifted one elegant brow. ‘Then why am I here?’
Kai stilled.
Mareena turned back to the arena below, where the two women clashed, their blades rising and falling in swift, violent arcs that rang against one another.
‘Do you truly think my father would not send an army to retrieve me?’ she said lightly. ‘Do you truly believe no one has noticed my absence?’ She gave a soft, derisive snort. ‘If I am here, it means House of Sun wishes it so.’
Kai leaned forward slightly. ‘Then why lie about it? Your father made us believe he would not help. You pretended to defy him, to follow Alina against his wishes. If he truly wants her to succeed… if he truly wishes her to fight the witches… why not simply say so?’
Mareena turned to look at him then.
In that moment, Kai understood what Alina saw in her. The phoenixian princess was strikingly beautiful, her red eyes bright with something ancient and knowing.
‘Because, Kai Blackburn,’ she said softly, ‘a phoenix becomes most powerful when it is reborn from its own ashes.’
…
Alina was growing tired.
No matter how many hours she had spent training, it was exhausting to face such a relentless opponent. Her face burnt where Saren had flung sand at her, the open wound stinging fiercely, grains of grit lodged cruelly in the torn flesh.
But Alina refused to stop.
Through the haze of pain she caught sight of the staff lying some distance away. For a fleeting moment she considered running for it, drawing upon the magic stored within. Yet she pushed the thought aside.
She wanted this victory to be hers alone, earnt by her own strength, by her own hand.
Still, her muscles trembled with fatigue, and her breathing grew harsher with every passing second.
Hessa appeared once more beside her, the phantom form materialising as though conjured from memory itself, those pale eyes shining with quiet hope.
Before Alina could rise, Saren drove her foot hard into her chest, sending her crashing back onto the sand.
Alina did not get up.
She lay there, chest heaving, the world spinning around her.
‘I can’t do this,’ she whispered to the apparition hovering above her.
‘Yes, you can, amira,’ Hessa said gently.
‘But I can’t.’ Tears blurred Alina’s vision as the last of her strength seemed to drain from her body. ‘I was foolish to think I could…’
Hessa knelt beside her, brown fingers brushing softly along Alina’s cheek.
‘Believe in yourself, amira,’ she said. ‘We will do this together. We will defeat our enemies, and you will rise victorious. Find that strength.’
Hessa rose and held out her hand.
Alina stared at it for a long moment, hesitating.
God, she was so tired.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of hatred.
And yet hatred had been all she had left. They had taken Hessa from her, and the emptiness that remained had been filled only with rage.
But that was not entirely true anymore.
Her brother Ash still lived.
Kai was here.
And Mareena…
Alina glanced up at Hessa.
Hope burnt bright within those pale desert eyes, steady and unwavering.
In that moment, memories rushed through Alina—the laughter they had shared, the whispered words beneath desert stars, the quiet strength Hessa had always carried within her.
‘Waa kair janta,’ Hessa said, her smile radiant.
Alina grasped the offered hand and pulled herself to her feet. She nodded once, firmly, before turning back towards Saren and raising her desert dagger into a poised attack.
‘Waa kair janta,’ she repeated softly to the ghost beside her before rushing forward.
We fall together.
This time Alina moved faster.
Her strikes came sharper and stronger, each movement precise, driven by something deeper than exhaustion or pain. And she saw it then: the worry in Saren’s white eyes as the Dunayan struggled to evade the sudden storm of blows.
Then an opening appeared.
Alina seized it.
Her blade plunged into Saren’s side, blood bursting forth in a brilliant crimson arc. Without hesitation Alina twisted away, spinning low and slashing at Saren’s legs. The dagger bit cleanly into both ankles.
More blood spilt.
Saren collapsed forward with a strangled cry, her white eyes wide as she tried to rise, only to fall again.
Alina stepped before her, raising the dagger and aiming its edge at Saren’s throat.
‘Surrender,’ she commanded.
Saren only laughed, lifting her head and spitting blood onto the sand.
‘Kill me if you wish, little mortal,’ she rasped. ‘It will not be the end of me.’
‘Now, amira!’ Hessa cried.
Alina drew her arm back, ready to deliver the final strike. But the moment the blade touched Saren’s neck everything stopped.
Time froze.
Alina felt her entire body lock in place, suspended as though trapped inside an invisible prison. She could not move, could not breathe properly, could not even lower the dagger in her hand.
Only Saren remained free.
Still kneeling before her, the woman laughed softly.
Then she rose.
Saren brushed the dust and blood from her trousers, stepped closer, and stood face to face with Alina. Her expression brimmed with amusement as she leaned in, her face inches from the princess’s.
And she stared directly into Alina’s eyes.
‘This is what it means to fight a god,’ Saren whispered.
Her voice curled through the warm air like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.
‘I will allow you to kill this body, Alina Acheron. But I will return. And when I do, I will take something from you.’ Her smile widened, cruel and certain. ‘So be ready to pay the price of war.’
Alina’s eyes flickered upward.
Above them, the thousands of spectators remained suspended in perfect stillness—mouths frozen mid-shout, spittle caught in the air, fists lifted in furious anticipation. It was as though the entire arena had been turned into a statue carved from a single moment.
Her gaze found Kai.
She wondered what he saw right now.
Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps this strange pause in time lasted only a heartbeat beyond mortal perception. So brief that, to the rest of them, it would feel as though no time had passed at all.
Saren leaned closer.
‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Alina Acheron,’ she said, her wicked smile deepening. ‘Until next time.’
Then time snapped back into place.
Everything happened too quickly.
Alina’s dagger plunged into Saren’s side, but even as the blade pierced flesh, Saren forced herself upright, moving with a last, desperate burst of strength. Her own dagger struck just as swiftly, driving deep into Alina’s side.
Pain exploded through Alina’s body.
She collapsed onto the sand, teeth clenched as blood surged from the wound. Her dagger slipped from her grasp as both hands flew instinctively to her side, trying in vain to stem the warm flood pouring between her fingers.
Saren fell too.
But even in her dying state, she lunged forward and seized Alina, shoving her hard against the ground and pinning her there.
Her grip clamped around Alina’s left arm.
Her fingers dug into the skin, tearing it open.
Alina felt the slow drip of blood from Saren’s wound falling onto her own body. The cut she had inflicted was deep, terribly deep. Alina knew it in that instant.
Saren had only seconds left.
The Dunayan seemed to realise it too.
And before her strength deserted her completely, she lifted her desert dagger one final time.
The blade came down.
It sliced clean through Alina’s arm just below the elbow.
Alina screamed.
The pain was blinding, unbearable, worse still when she stared at the severed limb lying in the sand beside her.
Saren let out a triumphant cackle.
Then her eyes rolled back.
Her body collapsed beside Alina.
Dead.
Alina lay where she had fallen, gasping for breath, her eyes wide and unseeing as she stared at the arm no longer attached to her body.
‘Breathe, amira,’ a soft voice urged as black spots began to bloom across her vision. ‘Your friends are coming for you. Breathe. In… and out.’
Alina tried.
She tried to stay awake, tried to turn her head to look at Hessa, but her body refused to obey.
All she could do was stare at the arm in the sand, her screams fading into ragged breaths until, at last, the world dissolved into darkness.