SELENE
Chapter 13
Aeris leapt forward with a cry like a hawk's scream, her blade flashing. She moved swift as a mountain cat, her feet near silent on the stone. Selene gripped the railing, breath caught in her chest, stunned by the way her sister fought. Not like a court maiden, but like a shadow trained in steel.
She struck true, once in the back, again in the arm. She slipped past the brute's guard and drove her blade into the soft of his knee. The man staggered, blood dark on the floor. But he was no man.
He was a wolf.
He rolled with the blow, rose again, wounds closing like they had never been.
Selene's gaze flicked to Zerek, watching him closely. He did not seem concerned. Not even surprised that Aeris had lasted this long. Instead, his expression twisted with something worse. Boredom. He was waiting, watching for the moment things turned, for the moment the real fight began.
Selene's hands would not still. Then Scar lunged, clawing for Aeris's head. His thick fingers scraped her strange leather cap and slipped. Selene understood then. Aeris had hidden her wild curls to deny him a grip. A clever girl, wiser than she let on.
Beside her, Thorne and Eiran were on their feet, eyes burning. They leaned forward like hounds at the leash, as if they might leap over the edge and join her in the dust. There was pride in their faces, clear and shining. She had lasted longer than they ever guessed. She had brought the beast to his knees.
Scar snarled, rolling across the sand, his wounds sealing but not fast enough. Aeris moved like wind and flame, quick on her feet, watching, waiting. The instant he found his balance again, she struck. Jumping onto him, locking her arm around his throat, dragging the towering man to the ground.
He choked, coughing as his hands slapped against the earth. He writhed, struggled, but Aeris did not yield. Selene felt something stir. Hope, bright and blooming in her chest.
Zerek spoke. "Enough fooling around, Scar."
Cold drenched Selene's veins. A command, clear and final.
Scar's body tensed. He rose, lifting Aeris as if she weighed nothing, peeling her arm off his throat with ease. Her dagger lashed toward him, swift, but he caught her wrist. She kicked, fierce and wild, but he did not budge.
Then came the laughter. Low, guttural, cruel. It seeped into the bones of the arena, silencing every breath, every whisper. The few allowed to watch stood frozen, gripped by horror and anticipation.
"Well done, little princess," Scar taunted, his grin edged with malice. "You are strong—for a Duskari."
Then, with a flick of his arm, he hurled her like a stone.
Selene's breath caught, her stomach twisting as Aeris hit the ground with a sickening thud. Something had broken. She knew it, felt it deep in her chest. Her sister's cry of pain sliced through the air, high enough to wound, unbearable to hear.
Selene turned away, forcing herself not to look. But the screams did not stop. They pulled at her heart, tore through her resolve, demanded her attention.
Selene turned back. Just in time to see Scar twisting Aeris's arm, bending it unnaturally until the crack rang loud and clear across the arena.
"Surrender!" Thorne's desperate voice cut through the chaos.
"Now!" Eiran shouted, his hands gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white.
But Scar silenced their sister before she could speak, shoving his hand into her mouth and grabbing her tongue, blocking any chance of yielding.
"Not a chance, little princess," he sneered.
Then his fist struck Aeris's throat. She collapsed, coughing, gasping, falling back to the ground.
"No!" Thorne and Eiran roared, their voices thick with rage. "That's against the rules! Father, call it off now!"
But Zerek was already rising, his voice rolling over them like thunder. "No one will dare. Anyone who interferes will face me."
Selene's world blurred. Aeris's cries had turned guttural, raw with suffering. Her arms were shattered, her legs buckling beneath her, her face swollen and battered. One eye had swelled shut, blood pouring from open wounds.
This was it. The gods had not heard her prayers. Her sister would die. Just like Veal. Another sibling, lost to the Skaldur.
Madness threatened to overtake her, and in a desperate fury, Selene screamed at Zerek. "Please!!! Let my sister go! I'll do anything. Give you anything. She'll marry you—just let her go!"
Selene's desperate plea rang through the arena, her voice breaking with emotion. She would give anything. Her sister's freedom, her own sacrifice, if only Aeris could be spared.
But she didn't see it happen. Didn't see Soren move. A flash of his sword, a deadly arc—Scar barely escaped losing his head. Soren's sword sliced deep into the barbarian's arm, cutting through flesh and muscle, all the way to his shoulder.
Scar roared, his blood spraying across the sand, staining the battlefield. The spectators gasped, their breaths caught in their throats.
Selene couldn't speak. Neither could Thorne or Eiran, who had rushed toward the stage, only to freeze at the edge. Soren had gotten there first.
He did not hesitate, did not falter. His eyes saw nothing but Aeris, battered, broken. He strode forward, dropping to one knee, his fingers brushing against her swollen face. Was she still conscious? Selene couldn't tell. But she saw her father's chair, torn from the floor by the force of his clenched fists. He had restrained himself, barely.
Soren lifted Aeris, cradling her in his arms. His movements were slow, careful, aching. Then he turned—
And Zerek was there.
No one had seen him move. No footsteps, no warning. He had appeared, like a specter, his dark gaze locking onto Soren.
"This fight is over," Soren said, his voice cold with certainty.
"Says who?" Zerek's reply was as smooth as it was dangerous.
"She is unconscious and cannot fight anymore." Soren's voice rang clear, anchored and immovable. "If you still wish for battle, then fight me instead."
He turned his head briefly toward Scar, who lay groaning, clutching his mutilated arm. "Your warrior is no longer able to continue."
Zerek smiled slowly, like a blade unsheathing.
"Alright," he said, tilting his head with mock consideration. "I agree. Then it's your turn, isn't it, Guardian? You protect her honor, do you not? Now is the time to prove it."
Soren said nothing. The hush of the arena deepened as Eiran and Thorne ascended, carefully taking Aeris from his arms. Her blood stained Soren's tunic, but he did not flinch. He only stepped forward, gaze still locked on Zerek.
"Of course," Soren replied, voice like a distant storm. "But I hope you haven't forgotten. Even if Princess Aeris lost… if I win, she will not be going back with you. You'll have to choose another sister—" he narrowed his eyes, "—or return to Skaldur empty-handed."
A breathless moment passed. Then Zerek laughed. A sound so vile, so deep, it reverberated through the arena like a war drum made of bones. It clawed into Selene's spine, chilled her veins.
"Lose? Me?" Zerek said, grinning so wide it twisted his face. "I'd like to see the day."
And with no horn, no command, no ceremony, the fight began.
There were no rules. No weapons. Just fists and fury. Zerek moved like a predator, all muscle and menace, fists flying in calculated destruction. Soren met him head-on, every blow like thunder clashing against mountain. Blood sprayed. Flesh split. They crashed into each other like gods at war, and the arena, the very world, held its breath.