Terra
The clang of training blades rang in my ears.
My muscles burned. Sweat dripped down my spine, soaking through the thin shirt I wore. But I didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop. Not when Darrokar circled me like this, wings half-spread, golden eyes tracking every shift of my weight.
I lunged.
He parried, the screech of metal on metal singing through the cavern. The impact jarred up my arms, but I used the momentum, spinning away before his tail could sweep my legs. The heat crystals overhead cast everything in shades of fire and shadow, turning the smooth patches of floor into mirrors of light.
“Better,” he said, voice rough. “But predictable.”
I bared my teeth. “Then stop me.”
He moved.
God, he was fast for someone his size. Seven feet of scaled muscle and lethal grace, closing the distance before I could blink. I brought my blade up, angling it to redirect rather than meet his strength head-on. The training sword was blunted, but still heavy as hell and it slid along his with a shriek that made my ears ring.
Then his free hand caught my wrist.
I twisted, using a joint lock I’d drilled a thousand times, but his grip was iron. Scaled, heated iron that sent sparks racing up my arm. Not pain. Something else entirely. Something that made my breath hitch even as I drove my knee toward his midsection.
He blocked with his thigh, and suddenly we were grappling, blades forgotten as we fought for position. His chest pressed against mine, and I could feel every breath he took, every rumble building in his throat. The scent of him, smoke and stone and mine flooded my senses.
I hooked my foot behind his ankle and shoved.
It almost worked.
Almost.
But then his wings flared, balance perfect, and he turned the momentum against me. The world spun. My back hit the floor, firm enough to knock the air from my lungs. His weight followed, pinning me, one hand catching both my wrists and pressing them above my head.
“Yield,” he growled.
I bucked against him, testing his hold. Solid. Unmoving. Heat radiated from every point of contact, seeping through my clothes, into my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or the way he was looking at me.
Like he wanted to devour me.
“Make me,” I said.
His eyes flashed. The hand not restraining my wrists slid down my side, claws catching on fabric. Not tearing. Not yet. Just a promise of what those talons could do.
“Careful what you demand, luvae.”
The endearment wove around me tight. Low and possessive, wrapped in that gravelly tone that made my stomach clench. I should have been thinking tactically, looking for an escape, a reversal. Instead, all I could focus on was the press of his hips against mine, the way his scales felt against my overheated skin.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, and it was true. I’d never been afraid of him. Not even in the beginning.
“I know.” His head dipped, breath hot against my throat. “That’s the problem.”
Then his mouth was on my neck, fangs grazing the sensitive skin there. Not biting. Just pressure, just the threat of it, and a sound escaped me that was definitely not tactical.
Screw it.
I arched into him, and his grip on my wrists tightened. The rumble in his chest deepened, vibrating through me. His tongue, long and clever and absolutely sinful, traced the line of my pulse, and I felt the exact moment his control started to fray.
“Terra.” My name sounded wrecked. “We’re supposed to—”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He did.
His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that stole what little breath I’d regained. No gentleness, no hesitation. Just raw need and the taste of him flooding my senses. I kissed him back just as fiercely, biting his lower lip, feeling the sharp points of his fangs against my tongue.
His hand released my wrists, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I buried my fingers in the thick hair at the base of his skull, holding him to me. His claws found the hem of my shirt, and this time he did tear, the sound of rending fabric loud in the quiet chamber.
Cool air hit my skin for a heartbeat before his palm covered my breast, scaled and hot and perfect. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his kiss turning deeper, more demanding.
I got my hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his own training shirt. I needed to feel his skin. His scales. The contrast of textures that never failed to undo me.
He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, wings shifting to accommodate the movement. The sight of him, bare-chested, eyes molten, lips swollen from my kisses, sent a fresh surge of want through me.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said, voice like gravel.
“Fix it.”
He did, with an efficiency that would have been impressive if I wasn’t so focused on getting my hands back on him. My shirt joined his somewhere to the left. My pants followed, his claws making quick work of laces and fabric until I was bare beneath him.
The stone floor should have been cold. It wasn’t. Heat radiated up from it, the same geothermal warmth that kept all of Scalvaris livable. Or maybe it was just us, burning hot enough to warm the rock itself.
Darrokar’s gaze raked over me, and I felt it like a touch. Possessive. Hungry. Reverent.
“Mine,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Yours,” I agreed, reaching for the laces of his pants. “Now get these off before I rip them.”
His laugh was dark, pleased. He stood just long enough to strip, and then he was covering me again, skin to scales, heat to heat. The weight of him should have been crushing. Instead, it felt right. Like this was exactly where I was meant to be.
His hand slid between my thighs, and I stopped thinking entirely.
The pads of his clever fingers, careful because of the claws, found exactly where I needed him. I bit back a moan, but he felt the tension in my body, the way I trembled under his touch.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured against my ear. “I want every sound.”
Then he did something with his fingers that made me cry out, back arching off the floor. He made an approving noise, deep and rumbling, and did it again. And again. Building a rhythm that had me writhing, chasing the pleasure he offered.
“Darrokar.” His name fell from my lips like a prayer. A curse. A demand.
“I have you, luvae.” His thumb found the bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind my eyelids. “Let go.”
I shattered.
The orgasm crashed through me, stealing my breath, my vision, everything but the sensation of his hands on me and his voice in my ear, murmuring words in his own language that I didn’t need to understand to feel.
Before I could fully come down, he was moving, positioning himself between my thighs. The blunt head of his cock, already slick with that fluid his body produced, pressed against my entrance. I looked up at him, meeting those golden eyes, and saw my own need reflected back.
He pushed in, slow and careful, giving me time to adjust. The stretch was intense, pleasure-pain that made me gasp. The scales at the base of his cock rasped against my sensitive flesh, and the ridges along his length dragged in all the right ways.
But it was the tip, that independently moving piece of flesh that seemed designed specifically to drive me insane, that made me moan. It flexed inside me, seeking, stroking, finding spots I hadn’t known existed.
“God,” I breathed.
“Just me,” he corrected, voice strained. Then he was moving, pulling out and thrusting back in, setting a pace that had me clinging to his shoulders.
The training chamber filled with the sounds of us, skin on scales, harsh breathing, the wet slide of our bodies joining. His tail wrapped around my thigh, holding me open for him, and I couldn’t have closed my legs if I’d wanted to.
I didn’t want to.
I wanted it, the overwhelming fullness, the drag of his cock against my inner walls, the way that flexible tip curled and stroked with each thrust. I wanted the weight of him above me, the heat of his breath on my skin, the possessive grip of his hands on my hips.
“Harder,” I demanded, nails digging into his shoulders.
He complied with a snarl, hips snapping forward with enough force to make me see stars. The angle shifted, and suddenly, that clever tip was pressing against a spot that made my entire body lock up.
“There,” I gasped. “Right there, don’t stop—”
He didn’t. He drove into me with single-minded focus, hitting that spot with every thrust, and I felt the pressure building again. Faster this time. Sharper.
His fangs found my shoulder, not breaking skin but applying pressure, and that was it. I came with a cry that echoed off the stone walls, clenching around him, body shaking with the force of it.
He followed with a roar, hips jerking as he spilled inside me. I felt every pulse, every wave, the heat of him filling me as that flexible tip continued to stroke, drawing out both our pleasure until we were both trembling.
He collapsed beside me, careful not to crush me, wings spread across the floor. For a long moment, we just lay there, chests heaving, skin cooling in the chamber’s heat.
Then he reached out, pulling me against his side. I went willingly, tucking myself against him, one leg thrown over his hip. His tail curled around my calf, a casual possessiveness that made me smile.
“I should let you win more often,” I said when I could speak again.
His laugh rumbled through his chest. “You didn’t let me do anything, luvae. I earned that victory.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
He nipped my ear in retaliation, and I grinned. This, the teasing, the ease between us, was almost as good as the sex.
Eventually, we had to move. The stone floor wasn’t exactly comfortable for extended lounging. Darrokar stood first, offering me a hand. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet, and tried not to wince at the pleasant ache between my thighs.
We gathered our scattered clothes. Most of mine were beyond saving, shredded by enthusiastic claws. Darrokar looked entirely too pleased about that.
“I’m running out of training clothes,” I pointed out.
“I’ll have more made.”
“And then you’ll just destroy those too.”
“Yes.” No shame whatsoever in that admission.
I shook my head, pulling on his shirt instead. It fell to mid-thigh on me, and his eyes darkened seeing me in it.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned. “I can barely walk as it is.”
“Later, then.”
“Insatiable lizard.”
“Your insatiable lizard.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
We made our way back to his quarters—our quarters, I corrected myself. After eight months in Scalvaris, the place was almost starting to feel like home. The rooms were quiet, lit by the ever-present heat crystals. Darrokar headed for the bathing pool, but I caught his hand.
“Wait. I have something for you.”
He turned, curiosity crossing his features. “Something?”
I crossed to where I’d hidden my surprise earlier, tucked behind one of the obsidian pillows on the lounge. The package was small, wrapped in cloth I’d traded for from one of the Scalvaris artisans.
“Here,” I said, offering it to him.
He took it carefully, claws gentle on the fabric. “What is this?”
I rolled my eyes. “Open it and find out.”
He did, unwrapping the cloth with a precision that made me smile. I’d worked with Vyne in secret for weeks, describing what I wanted, helping to forge it myself.
It was a ring designed to fit over his knuckle, crafted from a piece of metal I’d salvaged from our crashed ship. I’d spent hours shaping it, polishing it until it gleamed like silver.
“Luvae,” he breathed, holding the ring up to the light. “You made this yourself?”
I nodded, suddenly shy. “I helped. I know it’s not much, but, well, it’s Christmas. Ish.”
He slipped the ring over the knuckles of his right hand, flexing his fingers to test the fit. It looked perfect there, like it belonged. “You mark me as yours, luvae,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Before I could respond, he reached for me, pulling me across his lap until I was straddling his thighs. His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones as he studied my features like he was memorizing them.
“It is exquisite work. But what is Christmas?”
He had trouble fitting the syllables around his tongue. “It’s an Earth thing. A tradition.” I settled onto him. “Back home, we celebrate it during winter. We give gifts, share meals, relax for just a bit.”
He seemed confused. “We have no such tradition here.”
“I know. That’s why I’m not upset that you didn’t get me a gift.” I had to laugh at his sudden, slightly panicked expression.
He looked at the ring for a long time before slipping it onto his index finger. “You honor me.”
He kissed me then, soft and sweet, so different from the desperate claiming in the training chamber. It was tender. Reverent.
Right.
When he pulled back, there was a smile on his face. “The other warriors will think I’ve gone soft.”
“Let them think what they want.”
“Rath will never let me hear the end of it.”
I grinned. “Rath can mind his own business.” And I happened to know for a fact that Rath would be getting a Christmas gift of his own from his mate.
Darrokar laughed, the sound warm and genuine. Then he sobered slightly, and I saw the shift in his expression—from mate to Warrior Lord.
“The Skalanth begins in three days.”
I groaned. Darrokar had been boring me with news of the ritual preparations for weeks. Apparently, the Skalanth was a big deal. The annual warrior trial where every trainee and young warrior tried to prove themselves. It was part competition, part rite of passage, and entirely dangerous.
“You haven’t been able to hide your enthusiasm for it,” I observed sarcastically.
“The Skalanth is necessary. It tests skill, builds unity, honors tradition.” He sounded like he was reciting from a manual. Then his shoulders slumped slightly. “But every year, some young fool tries to attempt a challenge far beyond their capability. For glory. For recognition.”
“And you have to keep them from killing themselves.”
“Exactly.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Last year, a trainee barely out of his juvenile training tried to fight Khorlar. Khorlar, who has forgotten more about combat than this whelp had ever learned.”
“What happened?”
“Khorlar knocked him unconscious in under a minute. Gently, by his standards. The trainee woke with nothing but bruised pride and a valuable lesson.”
I could picture it perfectly. Khorlar’s stone-faced expression as he efficiently dismantled an overconfident youngster. “At least he learned.”
“Some do. Others require multiple lessons.” Darrokar’s tail lashed in irritation. “And the senior warriors must balance allowing them to test themselves with preventing actual harm.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“I’ll be busy managing egos, preventing disasters, and trying to identify which trainees actually have potential versus which ones simply have bravado.”
I leaned against his shoulder, offering silent support. This was part of his role, not just leading in battle, but shepherding the next generation. Making sure Scalvaris had warriors worthy of the name.
“You’ll manage,” I said. “You always do.”
“With significantly more gray scales each year.”
“You don’t have any gray scales.”
“Give it time. This Skalanth will likely produce several.”
I laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Poor suffering Warrior Lord. However will you cope?”
He pulled me into his lap, arms banding around my waist. “Careful, luvae. I can think of several ways you could help me cope.”
He kissed me, and I moaned into it.
A mate’s work was never done.
Darrokar
The ring caught the light as I flexed my fingers.
Terra’s gift gleamed against my dark scales, the metal bright where it wrapped around my knuckle. I’d worn it since the moment she’d given it to me, and each time I caught sight of it, something warm unfurled in my chest.
She’d marked me as surely as I’d claimed her, and I wore her declaration with more pride than any battle scar.
The corridors leading to the Forge Temple stretched before me, carved from the mountain’s heart. Heat crystals embedded in the walls pulsed with dull red light. The air grew thicker here, heavy with incense and the weight of centuries. Every surface bore the marks of devotion: sigils etched into stone, offerings left in alcoves, the bones of the mountain itself shaped into reverence.
I’d never loved this place.
The Temple served its purpose. The priests maintained traditions, blessed warriors before battle, oversaw the sacred rites that bound our society together. But there was something oppressive about these halls, something that made my wings want to spread even though the space wouldn’t allow it.
Maybe it was the way sound died here, swallowed by stone and ceremony. Maybe it was knowing that Karyseth walked these passages, her fanaticism seeping into the very rock.
Still, I came. The Skalanth required the Temple’s participation, and I wouldn’t give Karyseth the satisfaction of thinking I feared her domain.
The preparations should be well underway by now. The blood-flame needed to be readied, the ceremonial chambers prepared, the blessing rites scheduled. Jalliun had assured me everything would be handled, but I preferred to see for myself.
I rounded a corner and stopped.
Voices carried from ahead, raised in a way that violated every protocol of temple grounds. Arguing. Here, where even footsteps were supposed to be measured and soft.
I recognized both speakers immediately.
“You twist the teachings to suit your own agenda.” Karyseth’s voice could have frozen lava. “The ancestors never intended for our sacred spaces to be contaminated by outsider influence.”
“The ancestors valued strength and adaptation.” Jalliun’s response came quieter but no less firm. “They built Scalvaris to endure, not to stagnate. Refusing to evolve is not preservation, it’s suicide.”
“Careful, priest. Your words border on heresy.”
“Truth often does, in the ears of those who fear it.”
The passage opened into a small antechamber, one of dozens that branched off the main temple corridors. Karyseth stood with her back to a carved altar, her scales catching the light. Jalliun faced her, shoulders squared, his deep green coloring almost black in the shadows.
“The humans are here.” Jalliun’s hands remained steady at his sides. “Mated to our finest warriors. They’ve proven their worth in combat, in strategy, in healing. Denying their value doesn’t erase their presence.”
“Their presence is the problem.” Karyseth’s wings rustled. “Every day they remain, they corrupt. They weaken. They teach our warriors to value softness over strength, sentiment over duty.”
“They teach our warriors that strength comes in many forms.”
“They teach our warriors to forget what they are.”
The venom in her words made my fangs ache. I’d heard this before, in Council chambers and whispered conversations, but hearing it here, in the Temple’s heart, felt different. More dangerous. Karyseth didn’t just disapprove of Terra and her brethren. She hated them with the kind of cold certainty that led to violence.
“What I am,” Jalliun said, “is a priest who serves Scalvaris. All of Scalvaris. Not just the parts that conform to your vision of purity.”
Karyseth’s laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. “Your vision will destroy us.”
I chose that moment to step into the light.
Both priests turned, and I watched the argument drain from their postures. Jalliun’s expression shifted to respectful acknowledgment. Karyseth’s face could have been carved from the same stone as the altar behind her.
“Warrior Lord.” She inclined her head, the gesture technically correct but empty of any real deference. “We did not expect you so early.”
“Clearly.” I let my gaze move between them, making it obvious I’d heard enough. “I trust the preparations are proceeding smoothly, despite the … theological debate.”
Jalliun had the grace to look somewhat abashed. Karyseth simply stared at me, and I felt the exact moment her attention fixed on my hand.
On the ring.
Her eyes narrowed. Something flickered across her face, too quick to name but cold enough to feel. When she spoke again, her voice could have stripped flesh from bone.
“I see you wear your corruption proudly, Warrior Lord.”
My claws flexed. The ring caught the light again, deliberate. “I wear a gift from my mate. As is my right.”
“A gift of foreign influence worming its way into the highest levels of our leadership.” She took a step forward, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop despite the heat crystals. “How long before foreign ideas follow? Foreign loyalties? How long before Scalvaris becomes something unrecognizable, led by a Warrior Lord who values his human’s trinkets over his people’s traditions?”
The accusation hung in the air.
I could have roared. Could have reminded her exactly who led Scalvaris, who commanded the Blade Council, who’d earned his position through blood and victory and years of service. Could have put her in her place with the kind of authority that left no room for question.
Instead, I smiled.
“My mate,” I said, voice soft, “crafted this ring with her own hands. Worked the forge alongside Vyne, learned our techniques, honored our methods. She took metal from her fallen ship, the last piece of her old world, and shaped it into something new. Something that bridges what was with what is.” I held up my hand, letting the ring gleam. “If you see corruption in that, High Priestess, perhaps the problem lies not with the gift, but with the eyes that view it.”
Karyseth’s scales rippled—a tell she couldn’t quite control. Fury. But she was too calculated to let it loose, not here, not now. Instead, she drew herself up, wings folding tight against her back.
“The Skalanth will proceed as tradition demands,” she said. “The Temple will fulfill its duties, as we always have. I trust the Warrior Lord will do the same.”
It wasn’t quite a dismissal. She didn’t have the authority for that. But it was close enough to make the insult clear.
She turned and swept from the antechamber, her tail leaving a trail in the dust. I watched her go, tracking the rigid line of her spine, the controlled fury in every movement. She’d retreat now, regroup, plan. Karyseth never acted on impulse. That’s what made her dangerous.
When her footsteps finally faded, Jalliun released a breath.
“My apologies, Warrior Lord. That was … unseemly.”
I waved off his concern. “Karyseth’s opinions are no secret. Better to hear them directly than whispered behind closed doors.”
“Still. The Temple should present a unified front, especially during the Skalanth.” He moved to one of the wall alcoves, adjusting an offering that had been knocked askew during the argument. “The discord serves no one.”
“Discord has always existed. We just pretend otherwise during ceremonies.”
That earned me a slight smile. “A cynical view for a Warrior Lord.”
“Sit through a council meeting and tell me otherwise.”
Jalliun’s smile widened fractionally. He was younger than Karyseth by at least two decades, his scales still vibrant green without the fading that came with age. But his eyes held the kind of weariness that had nothing to do with years.
Fighting battles within your own institution did that.
“The preparations are nearly complete,” he said, shifting to safer ground. “The ceremonial chamber has been cleansed and blessed. The offering stones have been placed. All that remains is the blood-flame itself.”
“And that’s ready?”
“Nyx has been overseeing the final stages. You know how particular he is about the work.” Jalliun gestured deeper into the temple. “He should be in the preparation chamber now, if you wish to inspect it yourself.”
I did. Not because I doubted Nyx’s competence, but because seeing the blood-flame, holding it, feeling its heat, made the Skalanth real in a way that reports and schedules couldn’t match.
“Thank you, Jalliun.” I started toward the passage he’d indicated, then paused. “Your position can’t be easy.”
He met my gaze steadily. “My position is to serve the Temple and the city. Sometimes those duties align. Sometimes they don’t. I do what I believe is right.”
I left him there, his silhouette dark against the crystal’s light, and headed deeper into the Temple’s warren.
The preparation chamber sat at the end of a corridor that sloped downward, taking me closer to the mountain’s molten heart. The heat intensified with every step, pressing against my scales. Most Drakarn found it uncomfortable. I’d always liked it. Heat meant the forge, and the forge meant creation. Weapons born from fire and will.
I stepped through and found Nyx bent over the sacred forge, his steel-gray scales slicked with sweat and soot. He didn’t look up, focused entirely on the piece before him. The blood-flame rested in a cradle of heat-resistant stone, glowing with an inner light born of forge fire.
Beautiful.
The gem was the size of my fist, multifaceted, each surface catching and throwing light in shades of red and gold. It pulsed like a heartbeat, warm and alive. Legend said it had been cut from the mountain’s core when Scalvaris was first founded, blessed by the original priests, bathed in the blood of the first Warrior Lord. The blood-flame was sacred, and retrieving it from the Temple’s heart was the goal of the Skalanth.
Nyx turned. Soot streaked his face, and his wings hung loose with exhaustion, but satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.
“Warrior Lord.” He inclined his head, then grinned. “Come to check my work?”
“Come to make sure you haven’t burned down the Temple.”
“The day’s still young.”
I moved closer to the forge, feeling the heat wash over me. The blood-flame’s glow intensified as I approached, responding to presence the way it always did. Some said it recognized warriors. Others claimed it simply reacted to intent. I’d never cared about the why, only the what.
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“Of course it is. I’m not some novice.” Nyx wiped his hands on a cloth, leaving gray smears. Then his gaze caught on my hand, and his grin widened. “That’s new.”
I held up the ring, letting him see it properly. “A gift.”
“From your human.” Not a question. Nyx had always been perceptive. “Fine work. Vyne’s?”
“Terra’s hands, Vyne’s guidance.”
Nyx whistled low. “She worked the forge herself?”
“She did.”
“And Karyseth probably lost her mind seeing it.”
I laughed, the sound echoing off stone walls. “She did.”
Nyx circled the forge, checking seals and temperature levels. “The blood-flame is ready for placement. I’ll have it moved to the inner sanctum before dawn. Then we wait for the novices to try their damnedest.”
“How many do you think will attempt it?”
“Attempt? Dozens. Actually reach it?” He shrugged, wings rustling. “Maybe three. Maybe none. The inner sanctum’s defenses are particularly creative this year. And they’ll have to get by us.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Creative how?”
“You’ll see. I’m not spoiling the surprise.”
“Nyx.”
“Warrior Lord.” He matched my tone perfectly, mockingly formal. “Some things are better experienced than explained. Trust me, the trainees will have quite the challenge.”
I did trust him. Nyx had been designing trial courses for longer than some of the trainees had been alive. If he said it was challenging, bones would probably be broken. Non-fatally. I hoped.
Nyx knew as well as I did that war was coming. We needed to test our warriors, not end them.
I moved around the forge, examining the setup. Everything was precisely arranged, tools hung in order, the blood-flame’s cradle positioned for optimal heat exposure. Nyx’s work always had that quality, meticulous and uncompromising. It’s what made him such an effective Shield, both in title and practice.
“Race you,” I said.
Nyx’s head snapped up. “What?”
I nodded toward the blood-flame. “First one to the inner sanctum and past all your traps wins.”
“That’s sacrilege.”
“That’s a challenge.” I grinned, feeling something loosen in my chest. When was the last time I’d done something purely for the joy of it? Not duty, not politics, not carefully calculated leadership. Just two warriors testing each other because they could. “Unless you’re worried I’ll win.”
That did it.
Nyx’s eyes flashed. “You’re on.”
We moved simultaneously.
I launched myself toward the passage leading deeper into the Temple, wings snapping open to catch air in the high-ceilinged chamber. Nyx went low, using his smaller frame to dart through the forge equipment, taking a route I couldn’t follow.
The inner sanctum lay three levels down, through corridors that twisted and doubled back on themselves. I knew the path. So did Nyx. The question was who could navigate it faster.
I tucked my wings and dove into a narrow passage, claws finding purchase on walls as I half-ran, half-flew through the space. Behind me, I heard Nyx’s talons clicking against stone, gaining ground. The corridor opened into a vertical shaft, and I spread my wings fully, spiraling downward in a controlled fall.
Nyx dropped past me, wings folded completely, trusting gravity and his own reflexes. He snapped his wings open at the last possible moment, pulling up with precision that would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so damn annoying.
He hit the next level first.
I followed, landing hard enough to crack the stone beneath my feet. Nyx was already moving, and I chased him through a series of chambers that blurred together. Heat crystals flashed past. Carved pillars became obstacles to dodge. The Temple’s sacred quiet shattered under the sound of our passage.
Nyx took a sharp turn into a side corridor, and I realized his strategy. He was using the defensive measures meant for the trainees, the traps and barriers that would slow anyone who didn’t know the sanctum’s secrets.
I took a different route, one that required squeezing through a gap barely wide enough for my shoulders. My scales scraped against stone, and I felt something tear, but I was through. The shortcut put me ahead, and I poured on speed.
The inner sanctum’s entrance appeared before me, a circular door carved with protective sigils. I hit it with my shoulder, and it swung inward, revealing the chamber beyond.
The empty pedestal where the blood-flame would soon rest stood in the center of the room. I crossed the distance in three strides, reaching for it, ready to touch and claim my victory.
Nyx slammed into me from the side.
We went down in a tangle of wings and limbs, rolling across the sanctum floor. I got an elbow into his ribs. He raked claws across my shoulder, not deep enough to seriously injure but enough to sting. We grappled, testing strength against strength, and I remembered why Nyx had earned his title.
The bastard was immovable when he wanted to be.
I hooked my tail around his ankle and yanked. He went down, but took me with him, and we crashed into the pedestal.
I was faster.
“I win.”
Nyx lay on his back, chest heaving, and started to laugh. Deep, genuine laughter that filled the sanctum and probably violated a dozen different temple protocols. I couldn’t help it. I laughed too, the sound mixing with his until we were both shaking with it.
“You cheated,” Nyx managed between gasps.
“I was creative.”
“You nearly broke the pedestal.”
I gave it a gentle shove. It didn’t move. “It’s sturdy. It’s fine.”
Nyx sat up, wings dragging on the floor, and shook his head. Soot and dust covered both of us, and I was pretty sure I was bleeding from at least two places. Worth it. Entirely worth it for this moment of pure, uncomplicated joy.
“Warrior Lord Darrokar, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
We both froze.
Jalliun stood in the sanctum entrance, arms crossed, expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. He looked at us, at the disturbed pedestal, and sighed.
“Desecrating sacred space,” he said. “Disturbing holy relics. Brawling in the inner sanctum. Shall I continue?”
I carefully placed the blood-flame back on its pedestal. “We were … testing the defenses.”
“Testing.” Jalliun’s tone suggested he didn’t believe that for a moment.
“Thoroughly,” Nyx added, climbing to his feet. “Very thorough testing.”
“I see.” Jalliun stepped into the sanctum, and I caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He was trying not to smile. “And your professional assessment of these defenses?”
“Adequate,” I said.
“Could use some work,” Nyx said at the same time.
Jalliun did smile then, brief but genuine. “I’m sure the trainees will appreciate your dedication to their safety.” He moved to the pedestal, checking for cracks. “Fortunately, no actual harm done. Though I shudder to think what Karyseth would say if she’d witnessed this.”
“She’d probably declare us both corrupted beyond redemption,” I said.
“She might not be wrong.”
Maybe this year’s Skalanth wouldn’t be the burden I’d anticipated. Maybe, with the right perspective, it could be something more. A celebration of what we were and what we were becoming.
“The blood-flame will be ready,” Jalliun said, his tone shifting back to business. “I’ll have the sanctum cleansed and re-blessed before the trials begin. Try not to destroy anything else in the meantime.”
“No promises,” Nyx said cheerfully.
Jalliun shook his head and left, his footsteps fading into the temple’s depths. Nyx and I followed at a more leisurely pace, our earlier race abandoned in favor of walking side by side through the corridors.
“Your human’s changed you,” Nyx said after a while. “In a good way.”
We emerged into the main temple corridor, and I paused, looking back toward the inner sanctum. In a few days, trainees would attempt that same path we’d just raced. They’d struggle and fail and try again, pushing themselves toward something greater. Some would succeed. Most wouldn’t. But all of them would learn.
That’s what the Skalanth was supposed to be. A crucible, yes. But also a forge. A place where warriors were shaped and tempered and made stronger.
“This might actually be enjoyable,” I said.
Nyx clapped me on the shoulder, careful of the scratches he’d left earlier. “That’s the spirit. Now come on. If we’re going to oversee this thing, we should probably look less like we’ve been rolling around in the forge.”
“You started it.”
“You challenged me.”
“Details.”