Chapter Thirty-Four
F our days have passed.
I still haven’t completed any of Draven’s tasks. Which means over these past four days, I’ve been asked a hell of a lot of questions, and frankly, I’m beginning to wonder what Draven could possibly have left.
At this point, I think he knows more about me than I know about myself.
As I shuffle to our usual meeting spot between a set of lush, rolling hills, prepared for another day of valiant effort but bitter failure, surprise rolls through me when I glimpse multiple people waiting for me along with Draven.
I approach like a deer entering a den of lions, thrown off by their unexpected presence.
Kiran halts his conversation with Draven and slides his eyes to me.
He offers me a quiet smirk and a small dip on his chin.
Marcella, Gray, and Griff are locked in a conversation of their own, Gray noticing me before the other two.
He smiles at me sheepishly, as if he knows I have no idea what the hell is going on and is attempting to apologize for that in advance.
Marcella and Griff turn from their—what appears to be slightly heated—conversation and greet me at the same time. “Lyra!”
Marcella shoots him a pointed look before striding over to meet me. “You’re here,” she says, excitedly taking my hands in hers.
I arch a cautious brow at her.
What in god’s veins is going on ?
“I am,” I confirm, my words tentative. “Though, I don’t know why everyone else is.” I make sure my words aren’t sharp or biting.
“Ah,” Marcella says with a smile. “I’ll let Draven explain that.”
As if summoned, Draven saunters over and stops a few feet from me, folding his arms and tilting his head as he watches me.
I look at him expectantly, and when he doesn’t immediately explain, I sigh. “Want to fill me in on all—” my hands do a sweep of everyone “—this?”
It’s not like I’m not thrilled to see them, I’m just…confused. Plus, the last thing I need is a whole audience watching me fail at my assignments.
Draven drops his arms from his rather broad chest. “In light of the second test happening in two days, we are not going to be working on your tasks today.”
Oh, thank the Mother.
“Instead,” he continues. “We are going to work on hand-to-hand combat. I’ve asked them—” he jerks his chin toward everyone “—to help me. You can learn a lot by observing, and often those best at combat have picked up different techniques from skilled fighters before them.” He pauses.
“Plus, I thought their presence might make you more…comfortable.” It’s not that I would call his final sentence timid or anything, but as far as Draven goes, that was pretty close.
A small wrinkle forms in my brow. “So, I’m just observing?”
Draven grunts, amused. “Oh, no. You’ll be sparring. But for now, you will watch, and we will teach.”
Kiran clears his throat. “To be clear, I am not teaching anything. After all, captains helping examinees is strictly prohibited unless specified otherwise, like in Draven’s case.
I am only here to spar with my fellow captain, hoping to increase my own combat abilities.
” His smirk widens as he makes a show of shrugging lazily.
“But I can’t control it if you decide to watch us and learn something in the process. ” He winks at me.
I laugh, shaking my head at Draven. “Your ability to manipulate the rules never ceases to amaze me.”
“Actually,” Kiran cuts in, a wry glint in his eye. “I am far better at manipulating the rules than Draven. ”
“You know,” I mutter. “I don’t doubt that.”
He inclines his head, smiling.
I chuckle, glancing at everyone. “So you are sparring Kiran,” I say to Draven.
“And I can understand why Gray and Marcella are here, seeing as they’re both incredibly skilled in hand-to-hand, but…
” My eyes halt when they land on a grinning Griff.
I jab a thumb at him. “Why is Griff here?” I pause. “No offense.”
He shrugs. “None taken.”
“He asked to come,” Draven drones flatly.
The corner of my mouth kicks up, amused. I glance back at Griff. “You did? Why?”
“Because,” he drawls through a pout. “I didn’t want to miss all the fun.”
We all follow a weed-infested trail between the hills, leading us to a flat patch of land near one of Bathara’s many waterfalls, where large river stones are positioned in a wide circle.
As if following some unbeknownst-to-me, premeditated schedule, Draven and Kiran stroll toward the circle, and Gray, Marcella, and Griff line up around the sides.
A pointed smirk curls Marcella’s lips. “This is going to be good.”
Griff nudges her and cracks a grin. “Damn right it is. Not everyday you get to watch one captain spar. Let alone two .”
She watches him side-long for a passing moment.
Gray cocks his head with consideration. “Truthfully, I’m excited to see how my own abilities might compare to someone of their status.”
Griff snorts. “Get ready for an ego-deflating reality check, then.”
Marcella barks a laugh.
And I just swivel my head as they chatter, a notch wedged in my brow.
Draven strides to one end of the circle while Kiran strolls to the other. In unison, they both pull their shirts over their heads, and both Marcella and I suck in a loud breath. Gray and Griff both arch pointed brows at us, and I simply shoot a look back at each of them .
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you two’s victory march when we entered the academy.”
They glance at each other, both their lips thinning.
“Fair enough,” Gray replies, an undertone of amusement licking his words.
Marcella leans over to me, her eyes not leaving Kiran and Draven as they begin stretching their… considerable …muscles. “I’ll share if you will,” she mumbles.
I huff a laugh, my eyes still glued to the broad, impeccably defined chest belonging to Draven. My eyes flick to Kiran’s toned, clearly capable body next.
Gods .
And why do Draven’s arms have to be so…sculpted?
I’m also now certain his tattoo is meant to mingle with his wielder’s mark, seeing it on full display.
A circular scar of mangled skin marks the base of his shoulder, and from it, whorls of black tendrils twist and lace down his arm, curling until they meet his wrist. At the crook of his elbow, the design shifts—a swirl of tiny black, dust-like dots, converging into a diamond of pure darkness.
From that center, a wisp of smoke rises, unfurling into an ornate pattern stretching across his chest, twisting like roots.
The design winds toward his left pectoral, where a thin-lined shield is inked over his skin, intricate script scribbled within its details.
Parallel to it all, surrounding the shield, a still night sky lingers—a crescent moon and its precious stars frozen in ink.
With the design and placement of everything, it’s nearly impossible to distinguish which parts are from a handmade tattoo and which parts belong to his wielder’s mark.
I remember what Gray said in the valley. You either put a target on your back for being too strong, or you put one on your back for being too weak.
Clever solution.
Kiran’s mark is also interesting. Where most wielder’s marks look like tattoos—such as Draven’s—Kiran’s is nothing of the sort, looking instead like a burn scar branded onto his skin.
It’s made up of tendrils of flame wrapping along his left forearm, rising to meet a burning sun blazing at the crook of his elbow.
Draven cracks his neck, rolling his shoulders loose as Kiran bends low to stretch, his smirk firmly in place. He rises and slowly draws back his hair before giving Draven a slow grin. “This certainly takes me back.”
Draven huffs a quiet laugh. “Sentimental, are we?”
Kiran clutches at his own heart. “Oh, come now, Draven. You know I’ve always been the sensitive one.” He mocks a pouty lip, but his eyes remain sharpened with that wry glint.
They speak as if they’ve known each other all their lives.
Draven grunts, shaking his head. “You and I both know that isn’t true.”
Then, he moves.
Kiran’s smirk doesn’t falter as he reacts instantly. He barely deflects Draven’s first strike, a sharp jab aimed at his ribs. The force sends him back a step, but he uses the momentum to pivot, already countering.
Draven catches the attack mid-motion, deflecting the blow off his forearm before driving his elbow toward Kiran’s side. Kiran twists at the last second, absorbing the impact with a controlled exhale.
“Not bad,” Kiran muses, stepping back into a relaxed stance, rolling out his wrist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were showing off a little bit.” The corner of his lip kicks up. “There wouldn’t be a reason for that, would there?”
I catch Marcella’s sidelong glance.
Draven adjusts his footing, a sharp curve tugging at his lip. “And if I didn’t know any better,” he counters, voice edged in warning, “I’d say you’ve gotten slower.”
Kiran laughs, something awakening behind his eyes. “No, just warming up. I hate pulling my hamstring, you know.” Then he attacks.
The air crackles with the force of their exchange. And god’s veins they move with such remarkable speed—strike, counter, block, feint, counter again. Kiran’s movements flow like water, elegant and fluid, while Draven strikes like a blade, sharp and unyielding.
Kiran twists, faking a low kick before snapping his leg toward Draven’s ribs. Draven barely blocks, the force making him skid back a fraction.
Draven’s lips tug with the makings of a pleased smile. “Has the lion finally come out to play?”
Kiran shrugs, dusting dirt from his surprisingly defined chest. “Perhaps.”
And I realize—this is nothing more than a game to them.
Draven’s words from the valley echo in my mind.
I don’t lose. Ever.
Well, time to test that theory.
Kiran parries, then ducks low, pivoting smoothly behind Draven. He aims a strike at his back. But Draven is already spinning, blocking mid-air. Their arms lock, eyes meeting.
Kiran’s grin widens. “Predictable.”
Draven smirks. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
Kiran reads the movement but reacts a second too late. Draven hooks a leg behind his knee, sweeping him off balance. Kiran stumbles—but it would seem he’s more nimble than he looks, because he twists in mid-air, landing smoothly on his feet like a cat.
I tilt my head at the movement and can’t help but to wonder if he can teach me that. It would be a hell of a party trick, if not just a powerful combat skill.
Kiran exhales slowly, brushing strands of fallen hair from his forehead. “You’ve always loved throwing me to my back.”
Draven shrugs. “It works.”
Kiran chuckles, shaking his head.
They reset themselves, and this time, Kiran takes the offensive, landing two quick jabs—one to Draven’s shoulder, the other just missing his jaw.
Draven catches his wrist on the third attempt, twisting it hard enough to make Kiran wince before yanking him forward.
Draven drives his knee toward Kiran’s ribs, but Kiran breaks free just in time, twisting out of his grip and countering with a kick.
One that Draven barely dodges, Kiran just grazing past his head.
Draven’s responding smirk is razor-sharp. He moves—quick and smooth—and shifts his weight, twists, and sweeps Kiran’s legs out from under him. Kiran hits the ground with a loud thud .
He takes a moment before propping himself up on a knee, bracing his weight on his thighs to stand. “You really must stop doing that,” Kiran sighs.
Draven tilts his head, a frown pulling on his lips. “Stop letting me get away with it.”
Kiran nods, flicking his brows up, before lunging again. This time faster. Sharper.
I remain still, watching how they move. Noting the way they predict, adapt, strike, evade. They waste nothing. Their every movement, every action—I realize it has a purpose.
Draven catches Kiran’s next punch and yanks, twisting him midair before slamming him—quite unceremoniously—onto his back. Hard . The sheer force of it is enough to make me wince.
Marcella lets out a low whistle that seems to echo through the hills.
Griff, through his wince, murmurs, “That had to hurt.”
Kiran stares up at the powdery-blue sky, blinking. Finally, he sits up and runs a hand through his tousled red hair. “Gods, you truly love doing that.”
Draven’s lips curve into a smile as he offers Kiran his hand. “And you truly love letting me.”
Griff slides his attention to Gray and mutters under his breath, “How’s your ego doing?”
Gray wears a subtle smile. “Not terrible, actually.”
Kiran takes his hand, and Draven pulls him up. They regard each other for a moment, their palms clasped firmly together, before Kiran huffs a laugh and drops his hand. “I’m going to find a nice stream to freshen up in.”
He heads off in the other direction, and Draven turns and approaches me. Something begins fluttering in my chest as the sun glistens off his sweat-slicked skin, and I swallow once he stops directly in front of me.
He blows out a slow exhale. “Did you learn anything? ”
Gray, Marcella, and Griff swivel their gazes toward me, and I can’t tell if my cheeks burn from the attention, or from the fact that Draven looks so… appealing.
I lift my chin. “I did, actually.”
Draven tilts his head. “Do share.”
The fluttering spreads, tightening in my stomach, but I hold his gaze. “Your movements. Neither you nor Kiran wasted anything. Every strike, every action—it was all done with intention.”
A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “You have good eyes.” His gaze flickers, assessing me, and I swear it lingers for a moment. “Now, let’s see if you have good hands.”