Chapter 47
A roar splits the sky. A shrieking thunder overhead.
Something massive crashes into the edge of the arena. Fire erupts against the steel barriers. Smoke billows, dark and fast, swallowing the sunlight.
People scream.
The crowd surges like a tide, panic fracturing every corner of the stands.
A second explosion hits the wall behind the ceremony seats, flinging dust and rubble in the air.
“Rebels!” someone screams. Then there is the faint roar of chanting in the distance.
I spin, coughing, my eyes burning. Caelus still stares at his chest. Still lost. Mercyenforcers shout over the chaos, pushing through the crowd toward the stage, toward us. The Benevolent vanishes behind a wall of armored guards.
And Rhythe—Rhythe—is gone.
But I close the distance between me and Caelus. His expression is wrecked, stricken with something worse than pain: doubt.
I reach for his hand. “It’s wrong, it’s a lie. I don’t know how. I don’t understand the magic. But somehow, this is wrong. My heart chooses you. I love you, Caelus!”
But Caelus doesn’t speak. Just watches me with stormy eyes. I feel the space between us stretch wider, and it feels like being pushed off a cliff a second time. I take his hand.
“We have to run, Caelus. We have to go. Now.”
It takes a beat—but he nods. A single, small nod. Then we move.
We bolt from the stage. A column crashes to the floor behind us, sparks skittering across the stone.
People in dark clothes with red veils over their heads pour into the arena, blades drawn.
Mercyenforcers step forward to meet them.
We dodge around and past them all, ducking under an archway that leads toward the royal escape tunnel.
Then—Rhythe.
He steps into our path with a scathing glare at Caelus. It softens just slightly when he looks at me. “Axira, you know in your bones you should come with me,” he says. “Your father—”
Caelus lunges and knocks him off balance with a savage shoulder-check. Rhythe stumbles.
“I’m not going with you anywhere,” I snap, grabbing Caelus’s hand, dragging him past before Rhythe can recover. Mercyenforcers flood the arena behind him.
We sprint.
Stone corridors blur around us, smoke curling through the cracks. We’re nearly to the exit tunnel when—
“Wait!”
I spin and see Ivy racing after us—out of breath, face streaked with sweat.
“I knew,” she pants. “I knew the rebels were coming—I’m sorry. Please—take me with you. I can’t go with them.”
Caelus hesitates, but I don’t.
I grab her hand. “Run.”
She does. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a familiar pair of stern eyes at the tunnel entrance.
Syra.
She straightens, locking eyes with me, and my heart pounds.
I brace for her to raise the alarm, to signal the guards.
Because I’ve confirmed everything she once believed about me—that I’d fail the tournament.
That I don’t want to be like her, a proud Skyborn.
That running, betraying the highborn, isn’t just something I’ve done.
It’s who I am. And who I’ve chosen to stay.
Her mouth tightens. I wait for her judgment—a flinch, a sneer, even the faintest look of disdain. Her eyes sweep over me like I am a stain she’s sorry to recognize. Not angry. Not surprised. Just…disappointed. But Syra doesn’t move. She just watches me go.
We tear through the winding halls, heartbeats like war drums, the thunder of boots still close behind.
A rumble shakes the ceiling. Screams echo through the walls.
We run, leaping over rubble, slipping through the last corridor that leads to the hidden exit.
Behind us, the arena burns. The screams fade into echo. Shadows chase our heels.
We reach the tunnel. The air grows cool, narrow, the stone walls pressing in. Mercyenforcers shout somewhere behind us, voices distant but gaining. My chest aches. My heart still pulses light. It doesn’t matter. I can’t look at Caelus now—I can feel the weight of his silence.
But we can figure it out together.
When we’re out of here.
I love him, fiercely and fully. That’s all I know.
At the tunnel’s end, bathed in the faint glow of emergency lanterns—a figure steps forward. My heart stutters as they emerge from the shadows.
“My prince,” they say, breathless. A girl with elegant curls and smooth brown skin steps forward.
The servant girl who wept over Lucent. But this time there’s no glare—just a quiet, certain nod.
Her golden, jeweled eyes are piercing, darting between Caelus and me.
She wears fine clothes. Clothes almost as fine as Caelus’s.
“Rhianne!” He hugs her. Lucent’s fiancée.
“I didn’t tip off your medic. Decided to come myself. The less people aware, the better.” She turns to me and offers a hand. We shake.
“It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for all your help.”
“Of course. The ship, do we still need it?” she says, but her words fade when I look behind her.
Serafina is waiting in a rolling cart wrapped in blankets, eyes fluttering, chest rising and falling.
She’s alive. She’s really alive. And she looks like she might be okay.
I rush to her and squeeze her against me before taking the handles of the cart and push, running.
Relief floods me, sharp and sudden, threatening to knock me to my knees.
We are not safe. Not yet.
But we’re together.
And for now—that is enough.
-The End-