Chapter 38
“By the Gods! This is wonderful,” I exclaimed to Zion.
He led us through to the Dornéu, and now I understood what he’d meant about the lights.
The lighting system ran on archemic globes positioned beneath the arena.
These globes were receptacles of electrokinetic magic that lasted for centuries.
Light seeped through cracks in the stone—fissures caused by the impact of countless battles that had taken place there.
They filled with white light, like silver veins beneath my feet.
Along the sides of the arena, large openings let the glow illuminate the space beautifully.
“Did you like it?” he asked, his expression neutral.
“Are you kidding? This place is incredible!” I replied, still tracing the veins of light with my feet.
“I used to love training at dawn because of this place,” Zion said, looking at me. Despite the nostalgia in his voice, his eyes seemed sad.
“What happened today?” I asked, afraid his mood might worsen. He didn’t look at me but answered:
“We collected the bodies from the medical facility. Actually, what was left of them—the creatures had eaten the corpses almost completely. Then I spoke with the king, showed him the evidence, and argued against keeping the squadrons outside the walls…”
He paused, radiating cold hatred.
“And what did he say?”
“He said now isn’t the time to retreat—that he’d rather lose a few men than pull back just when an opportunity to attack has presented itself.”
“And is this a good time to attack?” I asked, surprised.
Then Zion updated me on the war. Apparently, the Drutes were retreating and there were no more breeding camps to liberate.
A sense of peace flooded my chest at this—I’d been waiting for this news for years and had dreamed of the day my people would no longer be abused.
However, I knew the end of the camps wasn’t exactly the end of the suffering.
Many descendants were still being enslaved, and no one knew how things were inside Drutes, in the city of Valmar, since the army only operated in the forests.
“But if there are no camps, wouldn’t the right thing be to pull back and maintain order over the conquered territory?”
Since I’d arrived in Interion, this was the story I’d been told: once all the camps were liberated, the armies would stop attacking and maintain control of the forests around Drutes.
“At first, the king thought that way, but now he’s consumed by revenge.
He doesn’t just want to liberate camps—he wants to destroy all of Drutes.
And Serguei…” His voice faltered, trembling with hatred.
“Serguei does nothing to stop him. He just sits there and watches while men die and the king grows crazier by the day. He won’t give me room to argue, doesn’t want me to argue, keeps me as Elitium’s faithful little dog.
If I clash with the crown, Serguei won’t think twice about sending me away, so I’m trapped. ”
I didn’t know what to say to him. I had no idea what kind of situation Zion found himself in.
“Away?” I was surprised to hear that. “What do you mean by away, Zion?”
He sighed beside me and closed his eyes for a moment.
“A place I once called home. But Serguei made me forget where it is and erased the location from his own mind to keep the information safe, in case Elitium ever questions him. It’s where we send all the refugees.”
“How do you take them there if you don’t know where it is?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. Zion stared at me, seeming undecided about whether to tell me.
“I send them to a point in the northwest. There’s a meeting place where members of our people receive the refugees and guide them safely to the community that’s become our home.”
This was precious information. I’d wondered many times where they kept the women and refugees. It clarified things a bit, and an indescribable satisfaction filled my chest—that confession was proof that there was a place for all the displaced people like me.
“And your leave fell right at a delicate moment.”
This seemed like the worst possible time for Zion to be away from his squadron, which was vulnerable and being pushed into a war.
“Yes. I’m stuck here while the soldiers are out there, risking their lives against whatever’s attacking. And the king seems to enjoy this situation.”
He finished his thoughts by lifting his gaze to the night sky.
The stars gleamed above our heads, shining as if putting on a private show just for us.
In that region of Interion, far from the city lights, the night sky was incredibly beautiful, full of star clusters and even nebulae visible to the naked eye.
The one above our heads was called Astérix—a purplish blue that commanded attention with its size.
I didn’t know how to console him with words—perhaps there were no words to relieve that kind of tension.
So I moved closer and, delicately, as if touching an animal that might bolt in fright, I touched my pinky finger to his hand.
He turned his gaze to me, as if unsurprised by the touch, and gathering my courage, I slid my fingers over his to press our skin together.
Finally, Zion accepted my intrusion and squeezed my hand firmly in his, then raised our intertwined hands toward his face and pressed a kiss to my skin.
He watched me, his eyes shining. The ocean began to stir in his chest again. I breathed in relief.
“All right, sweetheart. Let's start with a defense drill,” he said, breaking the moment.
I pulled my hand from his, blushing at the nickname, and headed to the far edge of the circular arena.
“We already went over defense moves this afternoon. Cauê covered all of them. Maybe you'd rather move on to something else.”
“I'm not going to teach you moves, Kyller. You spent four years learning those. Tonight, we're doing this: I attack, you defend—again and again until you can block the strikes.”
I stared at Zion as if he were speaking another language.
“You're going to attack me? We're going to fight hand-to-hand?” The lights from below bathed his face, and I watched a fierce smile spread across his lips.
“Yes! Just you and me.”
I swallowed hard. Fighting my classmates was already a nightmare, but fighting Zion? That was insane.
“I don't know if I can handle that many knockouts.”
“No knockouts. If I pin you, just say the safety word, and I'll let you go. Then we start over. That's not the point. To make it easier, I'll only use five types of attacks, and you'll block with five defensive moves.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe I could handle that. Still, Zion fought like a god, and I could never match him.
“Don't worry, Kay. I'd never hurt you. We'll start slow, and as you get the hang of it, we'll pick up the pace.”
I was afraid my voice would give away my reluctance, and he'd see what a coward I was. So I just nodded. Zion called me closer and began demonstrating his five attacks while I figured out counters based on all my training. I was embarrassed by my defense—every move seemed uncertain compared to his.
“Ready?” he asked once we'd finished the demonstration and I'd memorized how to block. Sparks gleamed in his eyes, and the shadows waited at the edge of the arena, just as he'd ordered. I opened my mouth to say yes but remembered an important detail.
“Wait! We don't have a safety word!”
He thought for a moment. His eyes fixed on me with an intensity that could only mean trouble.
“It's going to be a safety phrase: 'Zion is delicious.'”
I choked and started laughing. Then I put my hands on my hips in protest.
“Are you serious? I'm not saying that!”
“Then make sure you don't need to use it,” he challenged, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Then he attacked, so fast I could barely process what kind of strike was coming, but at the last moment, I blocked it.
Another strike followed and I blocked it, off-balance.
He seized the opening and caught me in a chokehold.
I lost my chance to defend, and suddenly his body was pressed against mine, one arm circling my neck and squeezing until I started running out of air.
“Say it,” he whispered in my ear.
“No!”
I tried to squirm free, but it was no use. He squeezed tighter, and bright spots began appearing at the edges of my vision.
“Say it, or we'll be here all night,” he warned.
So I gave in before I passed out.
“Delicious,” I spat. When the jerk didn't move, I added, “Zion is delicious.”
Finally, he released me, and I gasped desperately, bracing my hands on my knees. He held my arms to keep me from falling. I caught a different gleam in his eyes, but I didn't have the breath to even think about what it meant.
“You said you'd start slow!” I snapped once I could finally breathe again.
“And I did. I made the moves clear enough for you to understand and have time to defend.”
He positioned himself to attack again.
“There's no way that was slow. I barely had time to think,” I grumbled, getting into position.
“Then think faster.” He attacked.
This time he moved more slowly, and I managed to dodge the chokehold but fell right into another move, landing flat on my back. Zion crouched over me, pressing one knee to my chest. He wasn't trying to hurt me, but the weight compressed my ribs and lungs, making me gasp.
“Say it.”
“Zion is delicious,” I huffed, rolling my eyes. He got off me and extended a hand. I took it, and he pulled me up, smiling.
“See? It's not so bad.” The jerk circled me, preparing another attack.
“You're not the one eating dirt.” I got into position. Sweat was already running down my neck, and I was covered in dust from the ground.
“Eating dirt isn't my specialty, but I'd be happy to show off my skills elsewhere.”
He attacked again, but I was still reeling from his words, shocked by the obscenities running through my mind.
I blocked the first strike clumsily. On the second, I staggered.
On the third, he set up for the chokehold, but I twisted my body and landed an elbow to his stomach.
It was one hell of an elbow, but he just kept coming as if he hadn't felt it.
On the fifth move, he forced me to my knees with an arm lock, my face toward the ground. Pain flooded my shoulder.
“Zion is delicious!” I shouted, before he could squeeze any tighter.
I got up, tucking the loose strands of my braid back into place, and looked at the jerk. He was smiling.
“You’re loving this,” I said as he positioned himself in the arena.
“First rule of fighting: don’t get distracted. The enemy will do and say things to throw you off, so you have to learn to ignore everything and focus only on the fight.”
I dragged myself into a fighting stance, narrowing my eyes at him.
“That was a dirty move, General.”
My mouth was dry and tasted like dust.
“I didn’t say I’d play fair.” He attacked again.
Δ
We fought for the rest of the night, and what was supposed to end at 10 p.m. stretched to 11, then midnight.
We only stopped when Kiara, exhausted from flying and running through the fields to escape the dreaded butterflies, came to tell us she wanted to go back.
So Zion sent us home. He was spotless, not a single drop of sweat on him, while I was disheveled, dirty, and sticky—but other than that, the training had been good.
By the end, I could block all his strikes.
Zion had been holding back, and he promised that the next day we’d train a little faster until we reached normal combat level.
Months ago, I would have been terrified.
I would have made excuses not to train and slacked off, but now the feeling was the opposite.
I wanted to fight. I wanted Zion to teach me everything he knew.
I wanted to keep up in battle and be someone he could call an equal.
I longed to become a worthy warrior and impress not only Zion, but Serguei too.
To be free to venture beyond the walls without fear of attack, to defend the people I cared about, and more than anything, to be worthy of Zion—not a weak point in his armor. I wanted to be part of his strength.
As I showered and scrubbed my sore muscles, I realized that for the first time in my life, I actually enjoyed training—fighting, attacking, striking back.
When I closed my eyes to sleep, I was already thinking about the next training session.