16. Trial of Creation #2
The silence shattered. A feral roar tore through the stands. Hooves hammered against the obsidian tiers, the force vibrating through the stone beneath my boots. Massive predators launched themselves into the air to scream their approval across the city.
I was too relieved to scream or even speak. But in the end, I didn’t need to.
For years, the Thorn-Sickness had told me I was broken. A fragile thing meant to be discarded. Then, Eryx and Iaso had treated me as though I had no will of my own.
Skaros and I had fought the poison in my blood, the healers, and the stubborn laws of death itself to prove everyone wrong. And we had won. We were finally, undeniably free.
The acrid tang of scorched bronze and venom burned the back of my throat.
I stood on the open combat stage, dragging the freezing air of the arena into my lungs. The violent rush of the clash still thrummed in my blood. A shallow cut on my shoulder stung where Aion’s heavy bronze knuckles had grazed me.
I leaned into the ache. For years, I’d been nothing but a creeping awareness scattered through the masonry of this city. A ghost without mass. To feel pain now, to feel the solid, unyielding obsidian pressing back against my four paws, meant I was flesh and bone again. I had physical weight.
Aion stood a few paces away. The living metal of his chest was deeply gouged, thick veins of silver-blue energy flickering steadily beneath the damage.
I let the beast recede. Bone and muscle ground together with a wet, brutal snap as I shifted into my two-legged form.
My fur thickened over my chest, and my wings folded tight against my back.
Aion stepped forward and extended a dented arm. I met him halfway and gripped his forearm. The metal burned hot from the exertion of the duel.
“Next time you need to prove you’re alive,” Aion said, his voice rough with exhaustion, “pick a fight with Theron.”
“Theron sheds too much,” I replied. I squeezed his arm, feeling the solid density of the metal. “It’s good to see you, Aion.”
He nodded. The unspoken guilt, lingering between us since my unweaving, vanished. We let go, and I turned my back on the center of the Kratos Circle.
I walked toward the lower tiers of the stone seating.
The crowd of monsters parted, giving me a wide berth as I approached the barricade.
Theron stood near the steps. The Cerberus didn’t say a word.
He simply reached out and clapped a massive hand against my shoulder, his claws digging in with a fierce, grounding grip.
I stepped past him, keeping my gaze locked on Ianthe.
She stood waiting for me, her palms resting on the freezing rock. The golden mark burned bright on her hand. I reached over the barricade, curled my hands around her waist, and lifted her over the stone.
I pulled her flush against my chest. She pressed her face into my golden mane, her arms wrapping tight around my neck.
I buried my nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin.
There was no trace of the chaotic, feral life-magic that had been slowly crushing her from within.
There was no numbing frost from the healer’s draught. She was warm. She was pure.
“Skaros.”
The word came from my left. I turned my head, every muscle in my body going rigid once more.
Eryx stood at the edge of the stone steps, the dark silk blindfold covering his eyes. Iaso was by his side. Her hands twisted nervously in her robes, and her living bronze serpents were perfectly still, their heads bowed toward the stone.
I held one arm tightly around Ianthe’s waist and pulled her even closer. I managed to keep myself from snarling, but I let my tail drift into view. The barbed tip scraped a slow line across the obsidian.
“Healer,” I rumbled.
Eryx could not truly meet my gaze, but his snakes did so in his stead. “Skaros. I’d welcome you back, but I’m not certain you want to hear such words from me.”
Certainly not. The last time we’d crossed paths, he’d tried to unweave me all over again. “What do you want, Eryx?”
“Nothing. Not from you, at least. I think, in your heart, you understand why I acted the way I did. You and I aren’t so different, after all.”
He was right. We were both broken in different ways, and we were both monsters of Asphodelia. If I’d been in his position, I might have acted the same way.
“You knew it was me in that room,” I said. “You thought I was a starving beast who had finally given in to his curse, and stepped in the way. You’re right, Eryx. I do not blame you for protecting my mate.”
“But she does. And it is to her that Iaso and I both owe an apology.”
Eryx turned his blindfolded face toward Ianthe. “I took an oath to protect the dying, and I thought the draught would spare you pain. Instead, I nearly destroyed the only cure you ever had. I stripped you of your choice. For my arrogance, and for the agony I caused you both, I am terribly sorry.”
Iaso let out a shuddering breath. “You have my apology as well. We should have listened to you when you told us what you wanted. We just couldn’t see Skaros the way you did.”
I looked down at Ianthe. When I was trapped in the dirt, I had wanted to tear Eryx’s throat out for the freezing draught he had forced on her. But I didn’t need to fight this battle for her. Beneath my hand, she was completely steady. She didn’t tremble. She didn’t shrink back against my chest.
She rested her hand flat against my fur, her fingers curling slightly as she looked at the blindfolded Gorgon. “You were blind to the truth,” she said slowly. “But the sickness is gone, Eryx. We won’t need the wards again. And what you did… It’s in the past.”
I felt a fierce, burning pride radiate through my chest. I stared at the two healers, letting the heavy weight of my gaze press down on them.
“You heard my mate,” I rumbled, the gravel in my voice smoothing out. “Just keep your potions away from Ianthe, healer, and the ledger is settled.”
“You have my word,” Eryx said quietly. He offered a faint smile and took a step back, giving us the space we had fought to carve out in this city.
Ianthe turned her face up toward mine. I pressed my muzzle against her cheek. “Let’s go home,” I murmured.
I folded my leathery wing around her shoulders, shielding her from the cold draft. Together, we walked away from the Kratos Circle, leaving the roaring crowd and the healers behind.
It was over—and it was time to rest.