Page 2 of Chained to the Champion
“Stop …” The word was a broken rasp, torn from my throat. Darkness surged at the edges of the void, thicker now.
Pain pulsed, a relentless hammer against my skull, but beneath it, one imperative burned with the clarity of molten rock. This pull, this sudden, fierce certainty … it wasn't confusion. It was recognition. An awakening of something buried deep within the bedrock of my being.
Whoever she was, she belonged under my protection.
I had to find her. Shield her.
She was mine.
The blackness swallowed me whole once more.
1
ZARVASH
Pain woke me—worsethan any sunburn, worse than sore muscles. My wing throbbed, every movement—even each shallow breath—drove hot pokers deeper into bone. I filed it away. Pain was data. I mapped its limits with every exhale, assigned it numbers, classified it by urgency.
If I let it claim me, I would never get up again.
I forced my focus to the world. The suns beat overhead, heat crawling like ants beneath my scales. The air was raw-blood metallic, overlayed with something honey-sharp. The human. The scablands sprawled without mercy; wind ground sand in my teeth and shade melted before I could claim it. We were flanked by rock spires, boxed in but not unseen.
Our four Ignarath captors were sprawled between us and freedom: careless, sure of their dominance, claws idly raking dust. Golden brown scales caught sunlight, as if daring us to fight. My tactical brain ticked over. I tracked weapons—knives, teeth, the one with the short sword hanging carelessly. Distances: six steps to the nearest cover, two Ignarath within easy striking range, the farthest fiddling with a small blade.
Every detail was ammunition.
At my back, warmth pressed against me: human, alive, pulse snapping through the silence. Vega. I caught her scent—sweat and heat and something that made me stumble. Every beat of my heart demanded I shift my focus from the enemy to her. I bit the inside of my cheek as if that might help me regain control.
Now was the worst possible moment for this curse.
A shadow sliced across us. One Ignarath, Kerek, I'd heard the others call him, sauntered close, eyes gleaming predator yellow. He crouched, tongue flicking, gaze sliding over Vega’s shape with greedy calculation. The urge to eviscerate him stoked fire under my scales. I counted heartbeats, forced my claws to stay hidden.
“Quiet, female.” He jabbed her shoulder, grinning, too confidant. “Skorai will pay double. You’ll keep him entertained.”
I felt Vega’s tension through our bound wrists, but it was rage, not fear. “I'm going to enjoy killing you,” she spat, lacing it with contempt.
He barked a laugh, scattering dirt in her face, then swaggered away.
Amateur.
If they’d known they were holding Scalvaris's best tactician and a former human soldier, they might have used iron bindings. I flexed my tail; it was tied tight to my thigh, but the knot was rushed, unfinished. I mapped the rope’s pattern blind with my scales, letting muscle memory work where pain tried to sabotage me.
Movement: six paces to my left, an Ignarath raising a canteen; count of three, the sentry would pass behind a pillar, vision blocked.
Vega’s fingers tightened on mine, three quick pulses, pause, three more. Some kind of code. She noticed my subtle shift, or maybe just gambled; I respected both. She was asking for trust, dangerous, but we’d die chained together if I hesitated.
The rope gave. I worked my tail under her bindings next. Every twinge in my wing chiseled another threat of blackout behind my eyes. I squeezed back—go.
“Get them up. Move!” the command snapped. An Ignarath closed in, grabbing for Vega’s arm.
No time left for strategy.
“Now,” I hissed low.
She moved, a sharp headbutt to the Ignarath’s mouth, bone crumpling with a wet crack. He shrieked, weapon hand flailing. Instinct vaulted us both into motion. I yanked my tail free, kicked upward, and twisted, positioning my body between the Ignarath and Vega. Pain convulsed through my wing, a paralyzing bolt, and I nearly buckled.
Not now.
I took shuddering inventory: three Ignarath left: one recovering, one drawing steel, one fumbling for his weapon. I swept low, feigning a drop, then snapped my claws across the closest one’s calf, severing ligaments. He collapsed; I rolled, putting the broken body between me and the others, using every advantage.
