Page 131 of The Blood Rites

“You ready?” he asks. “I won’t say no to a little help on defence.”

I nod, bracing myself.

Kael is in trouble, and there’s no turning back now.

So I move towards the fire.

The dais is a forge. It shimmers with reflected light and heat, the air thick with vaporised blood and burning Mana. For one mad second, no one moves.

Then Atheron turns his head, taking us in with a delighted smirk. He snaps his fingers and the Fireborn move.

Maleiros and Serraith attack as a single organism, two bodies in perfect synchrony. A wall of heat advances, not just a flame but a living thing, ready to devour us.

Alaris and I charge straight into the fire, because what else is there to do? I drag a shield up, gold and glittering, barely enough to keep the flames from biting our skin. The pain is immediate, but I hold. Alaris stays tight at my side, crouched and intense, eyes locked on Atheron.

“Keep them off me,” Alaris shouts over the hiss of the flames. I nod, all my focus on the shield.

Serraith peels off from Maleiros, coming at us low and fast, his hands shaped into claws of burning orange flame. He feints left—then whips a leg into my knee with practised precision. I hear something pop, but the pain doesn’t register. I slam my shoulder into him—my ruined left one. The pain is so sharp it blazes through me, and for a breath, I feel nothing at all.

He grips my shoulders, grinning at me, his face a mask of pure hate. “I’m impressed you’re still alive, Lightborn.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I grunt, and smash my forehead into his nose. I feel it crunch and he staggers—but not for long. The last time I broke someone’s nose with my face it was Kael’s. Good practice after all.

“You little shit,” he screeches.

I raise my shield again. Just in time, because Maleiros begins hammering at it with fists of boiling orange flame. The heat burns through my bones. Alaris slips around the side, a blur of wind, and tackles Maleiros at the waist. They tumble, smashing into the ground hard enough to spiderweb the mirrored surface.

Atheron doesn't even glance at them. All his attention is on the dome and the prize within. He stands just beyond my reach, arms outstretched as waves of fire pour from his fingertips. His lips are pursed in an amused line. When he sees me watching, he winks.

“I hope my men are treating you well,” he calls, voice effortless, as though we’re at a casual dinner.

I don’t respond. Instead, I dig deeper, pouring more of myself into the shield, making it wider, brighter. The more I give, the easier it gets. Not less painful—but more natural, as if the instinct to protect is all I need to fight—like this is what I was made for.

Serraith launches himself at me again, screaming, both hands aflame. His fists bounce harmlessly off the shield, but that only enrages him further.

He comes at me again, twice as furious. This time, I let him through the shield. He expects me to dodge, but I want the hit. I let him drive his burning hand straight towards my face, then clamp my bloodied hand around his wrist. He is wirier than the others. I hold his fist in place while he tries to roast me alive. My skin sizzles and I scream, but I don’t let go.

I drive my heel down into the bones of his foot.

He winces, stunned, so I punch him in the throat with my blistering hand.

He gags, stumbling back, clutching at his neck. I drive my knee up into his jaw. His teeth clack together, and he falls.

He’s on his back, blinking at the sun.

“Stay down,” I snarl, but I know he won’t.

Behind me, Alaris and Maleiros are a storm, both battered, trading blows at a speed that makes my eyes blur. The wind howls and snaps. Alaris is not as strong, but he is faster and has the wind to back him. For every blow Maleiros lands, Alaris gives two rapid ones back.

Atheron, bored now, stalks over. He points at Alaris, and Maleiros takes the opportunity to retreat.

“You’re really going to fight us Fireborn? You?” he says, disgust dripping off every syllable. “You forget who you are. You don’t get to stand level with me. You should be on your knees, not playing hero with some Lightborn rat.”

Alaris spits blood at Atheron’s feet. “Maybe I just like fucking with you, you prick!”

Atheron laughs. “You lack the necessary discipline. The will. You’re pathetic.”

Alaris’ smile turns calm enough to frighten me. “You wanna bet?”