Page 45 of Daring the Drakarn Warrior Lord
The tunnel beyond the sanctum was narrow and dark, lit by heat crystals spaced far enough apart that shadows pooled between them. My breathing echoed off the walls, harsh and ragged. The sound reminded me just how alone I was down here.
No Vega creating distractions. No Lexa watching my back. Just me and the growing certainty that I'd failed.
I pushed the thought away and kept running.
The passage sloped downward. My boots slipped on smooth stone worn by generations of temple servants. I caught myself on the wall, felt rough volcanic rock scrape against my palm. The pain was sharp and immediate and somehow grounding.
I was still here. Still moving. Still in this.
Voices echoed from somewhere ahead. I couldn't make out words, just the rumble of Drakarn conversation bouncing through the tunnels. Other warriors, probably.
I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a group of three warriors heading the opposite direction. Ash marks stained their shoulders, dark against their scales. Eliminated. They saw me and stopped, blocking the passage.
The one in front had rust-colored scales and a fresh cut across his snout. His eyes narrowed when he recognized me.
"The Warrior Lord's human." He said it like an accusation.
I didn't have time for this. "Let me pass."
"You're going the wrong way." He didn't move. "Eliminated warriors return to the gathering square."
"I'm not eliminated."
"You should be." His tail lashed behind him, the tip scraping against stone.
The other two shifted, flanking him. Not aggressive yet but getting there. My hand dropped to my blade's hilt, fingers closing around leather that was slick with my own sweat.
"I don't want trouble," I said.
"Neither did we. But here you are, making a mockery of our traditions."
Something hot and furious flared in my chest. I was exhausted. Injured. Running on fumes and desperation. And this asshole wanted to lecture me about tradition while blocking my path.
"Get out of my way," I said.
He laughed. The sound was harsh and ugly. "Or what? You'll fight all three of us?"
I would if I had to. The thought was insane. Three on one, when I could barely stand. But I'd come too far to let some bitter warrior stop me now.
I drew my blade.
The rust-scaled warrior's expression shifted. Surprise, then something darker. He reached for his own weapon. And then his silent friend placed his claws on his arm.
“We are honor bound to stop fighting,” he reminded rust-scales.
Rust-scales cursed.
I ran, taking full advantage of the hesitation.
My body was screaming now. The adrenaline that had carried me through the fights was gone, leaving nothing but pain and exhaustion. My shoulder felt like someone had driven a spike through it. The cut above my eyebrow kept bleeding, sending warm trickles down the side of my face. My ribs protested every breath.
But I kept moving.
The tunnel opened into a wider passage, one that I now recognized. This route would take me past the lower markets and eventually to the city's eastern edge where the finish line waited. I was close now. Minutes away.
Not that it mattered. Even if I sprouted wings and flew, I was too far behind.
But I could finish. Could cross that line and prove I'd completed the trial even if I hadn't won it.
