Chapter 12 Terra
TERRA
The sanctum was empty.
I stood, chest heaving, blood dripping from the cut above my eyebrow, and stared at the bare pedestal where the blood-flame should have been.
Gone.
Someone had slipped past while I'd been fighting Darrokar. While I'd been so focused on proving I could match him blow for blow, another warrior had grabbed the prize and disappeared into the tunnels beyond.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to collapse right there on the stone floor and let exhaustion take me.
My shoulder throbbed where I'd slammed into a wall three chambers back.
My ribs ached from a tail strike I hadn't dodged fast enough.
Every muscle in my body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.
But I didn't collapse.
Because giving up now, after everything, would make this whole insane venture meaningless.
I limped across the sanctum, my boots scraping against stone that had been polished smooth by centuries of ceremony. The pedestal stood in the center of the chamber, carved from volcanic rock and inlaid with symbols I'd hadn’t yet learned to read. Empty. Mocking.
Whoever had taken the blood-flame couldn't have much of a lead. Minutes, maybe. The finish line was at the city's edge, a solid distance even for a Drakarn with wings. If I moved fast, if I pushed through the pain and exhaustion, I might still intercept them.
Might.
The word tasted bitter.
I'd fought so hard to get here. Survived obstacles designed to break warriors twice my size. Taken down Drakarn competitors through sheer stubbornness and tactics I'd learned from watching Darrokar drill his warriors. Made it all the way to the inner sanctum only to arrive seconds too late.
The unfairness of it burned in my chest.
But standing here dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. I needed to move. Now.
I turned toward the exit corridor. My legs protested the first step. The second was worse. By the third, I'd found a rhythm that was more hobble than run but at least kept me moving forward.
The tunnel beyond the sanctum was narrow and dark, lit by heat crystals spaced far enough apart that shadows pooled between them. My breathing echoed off the walls, harsh and ragged. The sound reminded me just how alone I was down here.
No Vega creating distractions. No Lexa watching my back. Just me and the growing certainty that I'd failed.
I pushed the thought away and kept running.
The passage sloped downward. My boots slipped on smooth stone worn by generations of temple servants. I caught myself on the wall, felt rough volcanic rock scrape against my palm. The pain was sharp and immediate and somehow grounding.
I was still here. Still moving. Still in this.
Voices echoed from somewhere ahead. I couldn't make out words, just the rumble of Drakarn conversation bouncing through the tunnels. Other warriors, probably.
I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a group of three warriors heading the opposite direction. Ash marks stained their shoulders, dark against their scales. Eliminated. They saw me and stopped, blocking the passage.
The one in front had rust-colored scales and a fresh cut across his snout. His eyes narrowed when he recognized me.
"The Warrior Lord's human." He said it like an accusation.
I didn't have time for this. "Let me pass."
"You're going the wrong way." He didn't move. "Eliminated warriors return to the gathering square."
"I'm not eliminated."
"You should be." His tail lashed behind him, the tip scraping against stone.
The other two shifted, flanking him. Not aggressive yet but getting there. My hand dropped to my blade's hilt, fingers closing around leather that was slick with my own sweat.
"I don't want trouble," I said.
"Neither did we. But here you are, making a mockery of our traditions."
Something hot and furious flared in my chest. I was exhausted. Injured. Running on fumes and desperation. And this asshole wanted to lecture me about tradition while blocking my path.
"Get out of my way," I said.
He laughed. The sound was harsh and ugly. "Or what? You'll fight all three of us?"
I would if I had to. The thought was insane. Three on one, when I could barely stand. But I'd come too far to let some bitter warrior stop me now.
I drew my blade.
The rust-scaled warrior's expression shifted. Surprise, then something darker. He reached for his own weapon. And then his silent friend placed his claws on his arm.
“We are honor bound to stop fighting,” he reminded rust-scales.
Rust-scales cursed.
I ran, taking full advantage of the hesitation.
My body was screaming now. The adrenaline that had carried me through the fights was gone, leaving nothing but pain and exhaustion.
My shoulder felt like someone had driven a spike through it.
The cut above my eyebrow kept bleeding, sending warm trickles down the side of my face. My ribs protested every breath.
But I kept moving.
The tunnel opened into a wider passage, one that I now recognized. This route would take me past the lower markets and eventually to the city's eastern edge where the finish line waited. I was close now. Minutes away.
Not that it mattered. Even if I sprouted wings and flew, I was too far behind.
But I could finish. Could cross that line and prove I'd completed the trial even if I hadn't won it.
The passage climbed, forcing me to use my hands as much as my feet. The stone was rough here, unpolished, meant for utility rather than beauty. My palms scraped against it, adding new injuries to the collection I'd accumulated.
I hauled myself up the final incline.
The finish line stood maybe a hundred meters away. A raised platform where priests in ceremonial robes waited. A crowd had gathered around it, spectators and eliminated warriors all pressing close to see the conclusion of the Skalanth.
And standing on that platform, holding the blood-flame high above his head, was a warrior I didn't recognize. His scales were a deep red, his wings spread in a victory display that made him look twice his actual size.
A priest sounded the horn.
The blast rolled across the city, deep and resonant, announcing the Skalanth's end. The winner had been declared. The trial was over.
I'd failed.
The knowledge settled in my chest, heavy and cold. I'd fought so hard. Survived so much. Made it farther than anyone expected a human to go. And it hadn't been enough.
Disappointment threatened to pull me under. I stood there in the fading light, covered in blood and dust and failure, and felt the weight of every choice that had brought me here.
Then I saw Vega.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, ash covering her face, and her expression was pure defiance. Zarvash loomed beside her, his face twisted in what looked like fury and relief in equal measure. But Vega wasn't looking at him. She was looking at me.
Our eyes met across the distance. She raised her chin slightly. A challenge. A question.
Are you going to slink away or stand tall?
I knew my answer.
I started walking toward the platform. My limp was worse now, my body finally acknowledging all the damage I'd done to it. But I kept my head up, my shoulders back. Let the crowd see me approaching as more warriors began to journey back from the Temple.
Whispers rippled through the assembled warriors. I felt their eyes tracking my progress. Some hostile. Some curious. A few that might have been impressed.
The red-scaled winner noticed me. His victory display faltered slightly as he watched me climb the steps to the platform. The priests turned, their expressions ranging from surprise to disapproval.
I didn't care.
I reached the top and stood beside the winner and the other gathered warriors who hadn’t been eliminated, looking out at the crowd. At the warriors who'd competed and lost. At the spectators who'd come to watch. At the city that had tested me and found me wanting.
The red-scaled winner looked at me, his expression complicated. Then he did something I didn't expect.
He inclined his head slightly. Acknowledgment, warrior to warrior.
I returned the gesture.
A procession formed. The winner led, blood-flame held high. Behind him came the other warriors who'd reached the sanctum and survived. Maybe a dozen of us total, out of the hundreds who'd started.
I took my place near the back, falling in beside a warrior with dark green scales whose wing was hanging limply. He glanced at me, then forward again, but didn't protest my presence.
We marched through Scalvaris's streets. The route took us past the main thoroughfares, through market squares, along the river's edge. Spectators lined the path, cheering or silent depending on their opinions.
I saw humans in the crowd. Selene and Orla and Kaiya, their faces bright with something that looked like pride. Kinsley with tears streaming down her cheeks. Reika standing close to Omvar, her expression cautiously hopeful.
No Lexa.
The absence twisted in my gut. Where was she? Had she been injured? Worse? The questions circled in my head, feeding worry I couldn't afford right now. I’d find her later, find out what happened.
The procession continued. My legs threatened to give out with every step, but I locked my knees and kept moving. Let the pain fuel me instead of stopping me.
We reached the feast hall. The massive chamber was carved into the mountain's heart, its ceiling supported by pillars thick as ancient trees. Heat crystals embedded in the walls cast everything in warm light. Tables stretched the length of the space, already laden with food and drink.
The Blade Council sat at the head table. Darrokar in the center, flanked by his warriors. Rath on his right, Khorlar on his left. Zarvash glowering at the spot where Vega would sit. Vyne looking oddly pleased despite everything.
I walked into that hall with my head high. Let them see me limping. Let them see the blood and the exhaustion and the evidence of every fight I'd survived. I'd earned this. Earned my place among the warriors who'd completed the trial.
The grumbling I'd expected didn't come. A few warriors shot hostile looks my way, but most were too focused on the feast ahead to care about one human's presence.
I made my way to the head table and took the seat beside Darrokar. He didn't speak immediately, just looked at me with an expression that held too many emotions to name. Fury that I'd risked myself. Relief that I'd survived. Pride that I'd made it this far.
I met his gaze steadily. Waited for the lecture. The recriminations. The anger I knew he had every right to feel.
Instead, he reached under the table and took my hand. His claws were gentle against my scraped palm, his scales warm where they pressed against my skin.
"You're insane," he said quietly.
"I know."
"You could have died."
"I didn't."
"You didn't win."
I felt my mouth curve into something that wasn't quite a smile. Looked at the assembled warriors, at the feast laid out before us, at the city that had tested me and the mate who'd tried to stop me.
"Next year," I said, loud enough for the nearby warriors to hear, "I'm going to win."
Darrokar's hand tightened on mine. His expression shifted from complicated emotions to something simpler. Clearer.
"You're going to be the death of me, luvae," he said.
"Probably."
Around us, the feast began. Warriors filled their plates and raised their cups. Conversations started, arguments broke out, laughter echoed off stone walls. The Skalanth was over, and life in Scalvaris continued.
I sat beside my mate, surrounded by warriors who'd tried to break me, in a city that still wasn't sure I belonged. My body ached. My pride was bruised.
But I'd finished. I'd survived. And I'd set my sights on next year's victory with the same stubborn determination that had carried me this far.
Let them doubt me. Let them whisper that humans didn't belong in Drakarn trials. Let Karyseth and her followers plot and scheme and try to use my failure as ammunition.
I'd be back. Stronger. Faster. Better prepared.
And next time, I wouldn't just reach the sanctum.
I'd win.