Chapter Thirty-Two Dragon Fire
"Revenge is a dish best served burning fucking hot."
The horn blared at dawn. Low. Dreadful. A sound that had once meant nothing to Adan now made her skin crawl.
She stood by the bars of the cell, watching the sand-colored light slant through the cracks in the stone, streaking across Nox's face as he sat on the edge of their stone bed. He hadn't spoken yet. Neither had she.
They didn't need to.
The silence said enough.
The day had come.
They had spent all week planning--building up to this moment.
Adan swallowed hard. "Say it again?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
Nox's eyes lifted to hers—green and endless, but hard as stone. "We survive," he said.
Adan turned her back to him for the first time in days. "Don't hold back," she said because she knew he might--because she might--and that hesitation would get them both killed.
His voice was right behind her, low and aching: "Just survive, Adan." His breath hot on her neck as he inhaled her scent-- need to memorize it, to ground himself in the inevitable challenge ahead of them.
She closed her eyes. "I will." She turned back around. "We both will."
Their eyes locked as the sound of keys echoed down the hall.
The guards had arrived.
--
Adan stepped into the sunlight first, the weight of her collar heavier today—not because of the iron, but because of what they symbolized.
Nox entered across from her, unchained, uncollared. A sea of sand between them.
The arena was full—every seat taken, every noble and spectator high on bloodlust. But only one seat mattered.
Cias.
High King. Tyrant. Monster.
He sat draped in silks and gold, his crown gleaming like a knife, eyes like frost as he leaned forward in his box. His son by his side, look no less cruel and vindictive.
Adan's spine locked tight as she looked away from the high balcony, towards Nox at the other end of the arena. 'Say it again.' She knew he was listening, her walls down just enough for only him to reach her. Nox hadn't looked at her once.
And then he did. Their eyes met—and fire raced through her.
'I love you'
His words filled her mind, leaving behind a gentle caress--like a hand cupping her cheek and a whisper of his lips on hers. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the feel and touch of his power ground her.
Cias's hand lifted to signal silence and the crowd quieted.
"Today," the king boomed, "we give you what the gods themselves must envy—a battle of lovers." Adan ground her teeth as she stared up at the balcony. "The Butcher," his voice rang clear, "versus the Reaper!"
The crowd roared.
She found their nickname for Nox unoriginal, but fitting when she thought what they had planned.
"Now," Cias's voice echoed, cold and cruel, "begin!"
Neither her nor Nox moved right away. They had both been given two sets of blades--Adan's choice of weapon--to fight each other with.
The sun hung heavy and red, the iron grate above them casting long, blood-coloured shadows over the sand. The crowd thrummed with anticipation—shouting, screaming, waiting to watch soulmates turn on each other for sport.
Drums pounded overhead. A chant began to rise.
"Fight. Fight. Fight."
Nox didn't speak as he headed towards the center of the ring, his eyes met Adan's, steady and fierce.
Her fingers trembled around the hilt of her blades, moving closer so they might circle each other.
'Make it real.' His voice filled her head one last time before she slammed her mental walls down.
Adan struck first. A wild swing he easily blocked.
He retaliated with a hard, wide slash of his own that sent her stumbling. The crowd roared.
Blades clashed, sparked and dust rose. A dagger nicked Nox's shoulder, while he in turn grazed her thigh.
Adan's blade slashed through the air, singing with fury.
Nox parried, hard, their weapons crashing loud enough to make the crowd flinch.
Sand sprayed around their feet as they twisted and spun—fast, deadly, too fluid to be anything but familiar.
They knew each other's tells. Each breath. Each weakness. That only made it harder.
Adan feinted left and struck right, her dagger catching Nox's ribs—but not deep enough. Not where it would hurt him. Not where it would matter.
The crowd roared again. Darius leaned forward in his throne, eyes glittering. Cias beside him looked indifferent--bored.
Adan charged. Nox caught her arm, twisted, and flipped her over his shoulder. She landed hard—hard enough to bruise, maybe crack a rib. It had to look real.
With her flat on her back, his blade came down to her neck. She moved quickly, scraping her blade across his shoulder, leaving a shallow, angry cut.
He stumbled back, and she kicked him hard in the middle of his chest with both her feet, giving herself more room. She stood and spun--blades whirling-- stopped by Nox's own pair.
Locked in a battle of wills, and skill, he whispered, "Are you okay?"
She grinned, if it wasn't for the possibility of their immediate death she might have been having fun. "Is that all you've got, Obbie?" She taunted, and they pushed away from each other in a flurry of steel and sweat and sand.
Nox barked a short laugh, low and dangerous. "If I didn't love you before..." He came at her fast—faster than he had all fight. Steel clashed again, echoing off the walls of the arena as their blades locked, scraped, and slid.
Adan ducked, twisting her torso at the last second to avoid the full force of a downward swing. She countered with a sweep of her leg, knocking Nox off balance, and followed with a quick jab of her dagger toward his ribs.
He caught her wrist in midair.
"Not this time," he grunted, flipping her again—this time slower, controlled, like a dance instead of a fight.
She landed in a crouch, spun, and lunged. Their blades connected again and again—choreographed chaos to the crowd, but to them, it was careful, precise, a game of inches.
The stands were on fire with noise. A pulse of it thundered through the arena. Every eye was watching their every move--just like they had hopped for.
She didn't dare look to the stands, but she felt a change ripple through the sand beneath her. As if the gods themselves were warning her.
Nox slammed the hilt of his blade against hers, forcing her back a step. "Almost time."
"Then hit me harder."
He obliged.
The punch landed on her side—not enough to break anything, but enough to knock the air from her lungs. She dropped to her knees, coughing, face turned away to hide the wink she gave him.
He raised his sword above her, letting the crowd gasp.
"Finish her!" someone screamed.
Others echoed it.
"End her! End her! End her!"
But Nox didn't move. Not yet.
Because behind the High King's box, Ren Harkness had just lit the first fire.
Adan's eyes found Nox's, her lips parting in a breathless whisper. "Now?"
He grinned with feral delight. "Now."
More fires bloomed around the crowd, but they went mostly unnoticed.
A low, resonant rumble that vibrated through the bones of the arena floor. The crowd fell silent, sensing the shift before their minds could name it. Sand lifted on an unseen wind. Metal groaned. Power gathered like a storm, ancient and impossible.
Nox's back arched violently, the sword dropping from his hand as he roared.
Bones snapped and reformed, limbs stretching, twisting, reshaping.
Scales erupted across his skin—black and iridescent, rimmed in violet, like obsidian kissed by starlight.
His wings tore from his back, unfurling with a thunderclap that knocked the front row of guards off their feet. Massive. Regal. Immemorial.
His face lengthened, his jaw stretching into a long snout lined with gleaming teeth. Horns spiralled back from his brow, crowned in gold and soot. Smoke curled from his nostrils, thick and sulphuric. His tail slammed into the earth, carving a trench in the blood-soaked sand.
By the time his transformation was complete, the arena was chaos—screaming spectators, scattering guards, dust, and power choking the air.
High above, in his gilded throne, the High King Cias stood frozen.
Nox turned glowing eyes toward him.
And smiled—with all his teeth.
There was a reason that Cias was always afraid of the dragons. Nox had explained it to Adan, one of his family secrets.
Iron has no effect on dragons.
Nox's eyes—glowing like molten gold—focused on the iron grate that loomed over the arena, holding everything in place, a structure designed to contain them, to prevent them from escaping, from using the full breadth of their power.
With a primal growl, Nox's chest expanded, taking in a deep breath. His mouth opened wide, fangs gleaming in the midday light, as he inhaled the scent of the arena—the blood, the sweat, the fear.
Then, like a storm breaking, he exhaled.
A plume of flame burst from his mouth—hotter than a furnace, faster than the blink of an eye.
The fire struck the iron grate with brutal force, its heat consuming the metal like paper in a bonfire.
Sparks flew as the grate began to melt under the onslaught of dragonfire.
The air shimmered with heat, crackling as iron twisted and screamed, buckling under the pressure.
The crowd went silent, the moment suspended in time.
The grate buckled further, molten iron dripping down, sizzling on the ground. The chains holding it snapped and snapped again, and with one final roar, the last remnants of the iron were incinerated, reduced to nothing more than ash and molten slag.
The barrier—both physical and magical—was gone.
Nox stood in the midst of it, his massive wings unfurled to protect Adan from the falling debris.
The crowd gasped, stunned and terrified, as the last remnants of their control crumbled to dust.
She stood there, frozen, as the dragon—Nox—towered above her.
Her breath caught in her throat, both awe and fear mixing in her chest.
The sheer size of him, the overwhelming presence, the dark power radiating from him—it was impossible to ignore.