Page 62 of Chained to the Champion
Omvar’s face was stone. If the question cut, he swallowed it. Jaw tight, he stared into the night—dark as scorched ash. Then, his voice flat: “That life was rot. Glory?” he spat. “Just another fight. Another meal for the sand. Bleed for the crowd, die when they’re bored. Your wings end up as someone’s trophy.”
His gaze flicked to me, eyes old and hollow. “I saw what the games did. Watched friends die for nothing, slaves butchered for lessons I stopped caring about. I felt nothing but disgust.” He shrugged. “Then you showed up. Broke everything. Built something from the ruins. It made me remember I could still choose.” His voice dropped. “I wanted to see if there was more.”
I'd never heard him say so much. I wasn't sure if I trusted it. Ignarath wanted spies in Scalvaris. Helping me was a sure way in.
But I would be dead,Vegawould be dead, if it weren't for him.
I coughed a dry laugh, hiding my fatigue. “You think Scalvaris will welcome you?”
Omvar’s jaw clenched. “They might. I won't beg.” Another shrug, heavy with weariness. “I have no home in Ignarath. Just ghosts. If there’s a scrap of sanctuary on the other side, fine. If not, I’ll wander.” He meant it. Shoulders braced for exile.
Something in me wanted to spit. Old grudges. Old wounds.
I studied him, the way the shadows clung but never quite swallowed him. He wasn’t an enemy. Not a friend, either. But he’d chosen, when the world had blades to our throats, he’d chosen us, knowing the cost. It was hard to hate that.
“They’ll demand answers. Your blood, your secrets, every scar.” My voice was gravel. “But I’ll speak for you before the council.” Saying it was a surprise even to me. “You have my word.”
Omvar held my gaze, steady, bleak, accepting. “That’ll do.”
The night pressed in. Heat hung heavy, promising nothing but hunger and another grueling day.
No comfort. Not there.
Just survival. For tonight.
I wanted to take my mate and find a secluded spot, wanted to remind myself and her of what we were to one another. But therewas no privacy there, no little cave or large boulder we could hide behind and lose ourselves in one another.
We had the darkness. And when she sat beside me, she took my hand in hers.
Comfort. At last.
25
ZARVASH
Below us,Scalvaris sprawled like a beast guarding its hoard: arches jagged as broken ribs, keeps huddled tight, bridges thick as dragon spines. The wind carried the stench of the forges, molten metal, sulfur, the ghosts of old battles. I knew every scar in these caverns, every vow shattered there. The weight of it pressed into me, a brand of fear and home.
Inside, I was nerves and dread. We’d escaped Ignarath, but it was close, and we'd made enemies. The tensions between the two cities were already high. Had I started a war? Every wingbeat back felt like a gamble. The cost gnawed at me, each failure etched in Vega’s bloodied face. My mate. Myveshari. The one piece of myself I couldn’t cover in armor.
She moved like she was unbreakable, blood crusted on her jaw, that fire in her eyes. Fool. Warrior.
Mine.
At the thick doors of the Blade Council chambers, my claw struck true, the impact humming through me. Focus. Darrokar would have heard we were back. Scalvaris thrived on whispers—rumors slipping down tunnels, through markets, faster than blood.
I would have gone there first, but Kinsley and Omvar needed the attention of Mysha and her healers. And even if they were fine, the healing caverns were a safe place to stash them while I faced the wrath of Darrokar.
He wouldn't be happy about this.
The hall was thick with tension. Shadows clung to stone; voices died at our entrance. Drakarn, the Blade Council—watching. Vega’s spine was a blade, and I forced myself to stand tall. Let them see control, not the exhaustion eating at me.
Darrokar crossed the hall in a flash, his black scales catching the light of the heat crystals embedded in the walls, anger coiled in every step. He stopped close—near enough to threaten, far enough to hold back. His eyes raked over me, assessing, then fixed on Vega. “So, you're alive. Both of you.”
I swallowed the pain and spoke. “Ignarath is crawling with humans. A dozen, at least. Caged. Broken. Maybe five could fight. The rest are arena fodder. They’ve already sent others to the mines.”
Vega’s voice cut in, “Kira's sister is there. More humans from the same ship we were on. They're being tortured, enslaved. Some are already dead.”
“And how did you find all this out?” He sounded ready to make someone bleed. Me? Ignarath? I couldn’t know.
