Kael looks ready to explode.
His fingers twitch at his sides, his entire body rigid. He doesn’t speak, but his emotions roll through me like a wave—frustration, worry, anger. I send him a thread of calm, something quiet and steady.
I feel the way it hits him. The way he sucks in a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Then I grin, stepping back and gesturing to Zeyv. “Go ahead, lizard dick. Let’s see what you got.”
Zeyv smirks, rolling his shoulders as he steps forwards. “Hope you can keep up, human.”
“Oh, I’ll do more than that.”
The moment Varek gives the go-ahead, Zeyv lunges.
I barely twist out of the way, my boots skidding against the worn ground. He’s fast, I’ll give him that, but I knew he’d go for brute strength first—probably hoping to end this quickly. Too bad for him, I don’t play like that.
I move swiftly, ducking and weaving, using my size to my advantage. He’s got reach, sure, but I’m small, and more importantly, I’m smart. I anticipate the next strike before it happens, shifting my weight just enough to let him miss, feeling the rush of air as his fist cuts through empty space.
The gathered crowd watches in silence, the intensity in the air thick enough to choke on.
I land the first solid hit, a sharp elbow to his ribs that earns a grunt. But Zeyv doesn’t back down—he drives forwards, forcing me to dodge and pivot.
I feel Kael’s gaze on me, burning. The weight of it distracts me for a second too long—and Zeyv takes advantage. Pain bursts across my side as he slams a heavy hit into my ribs. “Fuck,” I gasp, stumbling back a step, even as another hit comes. I jerk my head back as his fist grazes my jaw and lip, enough to have it splitting, but thank Christ not enough to break my jaw.
A snarl cuts through the air—Kael’s. Varek moves fast, a hand snapping out to grip Kael’s arm, stopping him from charging forwards.
“He’s fine,” Varek says, but his voice is low, almost a warning.
I don’t look at Kael—I can’t afford to—but I feel his frustration, feel the heat of it even from a few metres away. Instead, I wipe my mouth, dragging my forearm across my lips, and exhale sharply. “Not bad.”
Zeyv grins. “Not done.”
Good.
Neither am I.
I launch forwards before he can fully reset, going low this time. He expects me to meet him head-on, but instead, I slide beneath his reach, twisting at the last second and bringing my blade around in a controlled arc—just enough to press the cool metal against the underside of his chin.
Zeyv freezes. The crowd goes utterly silent. His throat bobs, jaw clenched tight.
I shift just enough to meet his wide, stunned gaze, panting. “Yield.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move. His pride is screaming at him to keep going, to win, but the cold bite of my dagger is enough of a reminder that if this had been real, he’d be bleeding out already.
He exhales sharply. Then, finally—reluctantly—he nods. “Yield.”
I pull back and step away, dragging in a breath. The moment my blade is no longer at his throat, Zeyv hesitates, then flicks a glance to Varek—and maybe Kael—before shifting his attention back to me.
I offer him my hand. His gaze moves between it and my face, something unreadable in his expression. For a second, I thinkhe’s going to refuse. Then, with a stiff nod, he clasps my hand, his grip firm but brief as I help pull him to his feet.
But even as he stands, something lingers in his eyes—something I don’t trust. And when he turns, walking towards the small group of his friends that hover at the edge of the training grounds, I feel it. That prickle down my spine.
I roll my shoulders, shoving the feeling down as I turn?—
Varek is right there.
But Kael?
Kael is not.
Disappointment slams into me.
