CHAPTER 41: ANGRY MORNING

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Fenna’s voice softened. "Good."

She reached out without opening her eyes, and he took her hand. They fell asleep that way, two hands joined in a circle of flame light and silence.

Outside, Emberfall city breathed, pulsing like a living forge. And far to the east, where rumor and ruin met the rising winds, something stirred. But for now, the fire in this attic burned soft and steady.

A few hours later...

Zephyr woke before dawn. His heartbeat hammering like a smith’s trip hammer against his ribs.

The attic air was warm, scented with dried herbs, dye steam, and the faint mineral bite of bandage salve. His pulse was loud in his ears, a steady throb that wouldn’t relent. For a moment, he simply lay there, eyes open to the ceiling’s shadowed beams, fists clenched beneath the thin blanket.

(In case someone doesn’t know what Salve is.

Salve = a soft, often medicated ointment used to heal skin or wounds.)

Across the attic, Fenna slept soundly, curled beneath the homespun quilt Arlen had left for them. Her breath was steady, peaceful. Stray strands of hair had escaped her braid, catching the late moonlight and early morning sunlight in soft, copper gold flickers. Her arm dangled over the edge of the cot, fingertips just brushing the wooden floorboards.

Star lay at her feet, nestled tightly, his wing twitching in a light dream. The wound on his side still radiated warmth, a dull orange pulse beneath clean bandages. His breath came slower now, easier than the day before, but not yet fully healed.

Zephyr’s gaze lingered on both of them.

And then, as if struck by lightning, the memory of last night’s banquet returned... Ayan Vaelor’s whisper, acid laced and vile, "Offer Fenna to my bed. Or I will make your life a crawling hell."

The words burned hotter than fire. His jaw locked. His knuckles ached as he realized they were still clenched from the moment he’d closed his eyes the night before. Every muscle in his back felt coiled tight, like bowstrings drawn too long.

He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the air too much. He didn’t speak. Didn’t leave a note.

He just moved.

With silent precision, Zephyr slipped on his tunic and reached for his battered harness, the familiar weight grounding him. The leather was still scraped from the last arena bout, but the metal rings had been cleaned. The blade pouch remained empty. He didn’t plan to draw steel.

Only fire.

He turned toward the cot where Star lay curled near Fenna’s feet, the young drake’s flank still bandaged, his breathing slow but even. For a moment Zephyr hesitated, he didn’t want to wake either of them. But he knew he couldn’t face the arena alone. He needs his beast.

He crouched beside his beast, brushing a hand gently over the warm scales along Star’s neck. "Come on, boy," he whispered. "Just one more. Then we rest."

Star’s eyes fluttered open, slitted pupils narrowing as he stirred. His nostrils flared as he tasted Zephyr’s mood in the air. It was anger, iron edged and smoldering. The bond between them pulsed faintly, and Star gave a soft, low rumble in reply, wings shifting against the floor.

Carefully, Zephyr lifted him, letting Star climb onto his shoulder with a soft scrape of claws over fabric. The drake moved slower than usual, but there was fire in his bones, enough for a few low level fights.

With one last glance at Fenna who was still sleeping, unaware of the war already beginning around her. Zephyr descended the narrow attic stairwell.

The steps creaked once beneath his heel, but he paused just long enough for the night wind to howl past the shutter, masking the sound.

Out on the street, Emberfall’s upper ring was still asleep.

The lamps along the alleys guttered in the wind, their flames flickering behind glass as a cold draft swept down from the volcano’s open crest. Steam curled from iron grates in the cobblestones, thick with sulfur and chimney soot. A black cat darted across a rooftop ahead, startled by Zephyr’s presence.

Far off in the distance, the brass bells of the forge tier chimed half past the fifth bell, deep and bone heavy, rolling through the bones of the city like warning drums.

Zephyr’s boots slapped the stone as he moved down the slope. He passed shuttered shopfronts, old gearwork carts, empty fruit stalls, the sweet rot of crushed ember apples beneath wagon wheels.

But none of it slowed him.

He didn’t pause until the Forge Arena building rose ahead, a jagged silhouette of iron spires and basalt arches, half carved into the mountain wall, half built into the city’s spine. Even in the early dawn light, the arena loomed like a hungry god. Red light flickered deep inside its belly, the inner vents already waking, casting flickering shadows across the wide gate.

To Zephyr, it looked like the jaws of a beast, waiting for someone foolish or furious enough to step inside. And he was already past the point of turning back.

He moved toward the gate. Toward the only kind of answer he had left.

Ash hung low in the air around the Forge Arena’s stone gatehouse, its smoke laced haze tinged orange from the rising light of the inner vents. Zephyr approached the iron wicket, boots crunching faintly over grit left behind by yesterday’s fighters. The night chill hadn’t yet burned off, and the scent of scorched oil and old blood lingered on the wind.

The clerk behind the desk, a pock cheeked man with half closed eyes and a thermal mug in one hand looked up lazily as the Arena token clinked down on the stone slab.

He blinked.

"Back already, Hollowback Tamer?" he muttered around a yawn. "Didn’t you knock over a wild beast yesterday? You want another demo battle?"

Zephyr shook his head. His voice came cold, sharp. "Ranked board. Find me the next open slot. I want to enter the rank board."