Chapter 89: Fight!

Aira could barely stomach anything else after that. Her hands trembled as she reached for her spoon, barely able to guide the small scoops of food to her mouth. Each bite tasted like ash—flavorless, empty, forced.

Zyren’s words echoed in her mind, sharp and cold.

"It’s happening sooner than expected. You need to be ready."

There had been no emotion in his voice, no hesitation or warmth. Just a flat finality that chilled her more than any winter breeze. He wasn’t just warning her—he was preparing her for something inevitable. For the tournament!

The hall buzzed with the quiet murmur of others finishing their meals, but for Aira, the world had shrunk to the trembling weight of her spoon and the memory of Zyren’s voice.

He finished eating before she did, his movements precise and unhurried, as though nothing unusual had passed between them. Aira had already long since dropped her spoon and folded her hands into her lap, her gaze fixed on the table, unfocused. When he stood, she rose too, instinct guiding her feet more than any conscious decision.

She followed him, careful to stay back, hoping to remain unnoticed. She didn’t want another exchange, not while her thoughts were still scattered like leaves in a storm. But Zyren never missed anything. Just before reaching the exit of the grand hall, he stopped. Without turning, he gestured subtly—so small a movement that no one else would have noticed it, but to Aira, it was a summons as clear as a shout.

She hesitated, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Then, slowly, she stepped forward, every footfall heavy, reluctant. Her brows furrowed slightly as she came closer, unsure of what to expect. He was flanked by guards, their armor catching the torchlight in brilliant flashes of silver and crimson. Yet none moved, none questioned her approach.

Zyren turned just as she stopped before him. His red eyes locked onto hers—piercing, unreadable, cold. His gaze made her feel stripped bare, like he could see past her thoughts into every secret she’d ever tried to hide.

Then, to her complete shock, he reached out and pulled her closer.

She stiffened. The action wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either. His hands settled on her waist, steady and firm. Aira swallowed hard, too startled to protest.

"Is there something you need?" she asked, her voice carefully calm, patient. But she couldn’t keep the slight edge of wariness from slipping through. All she wanted now was to step away, to flee to the safety of silence and solitude.

But he held her fast.

"I hope you survive," he said at last, his voice a whisper meant for her—but delivered loud enough for every guard nearby to hear. "Getting a new pet would be a hassle."

His face was only inches from hers. She could feel the faint heat of his breath, see the way his eyes didn’t blink, didn’t soften.

The words might have seemed mocking, but there was no humor in them. Just icy indifference.

Then, just as suddenly, he let her go and stepped back. Without another glance, he turned and strode away, the guards falling in behind him like shadows.

Aira stood frozen, her lips parted in disbelief. Her eyes were wide, and for a long moment, she felt her chest tighten with something she couldn’t name. Shock. Confusion. Anger.

Did he mean that? she wondered. Or was he just trying to provoke me?

Whatever the truth, it worked. She had no answer.

And oddly enough, she couldn’t even bring herself to be angry. Not yet. Maybe later, when her heart stopped pounding and her thoughts weren’t a tangled mess.

Only after Zyren had completely vanished from sight—turning left at the corridor beyond the hall’s end—did she finally move. She turned right and walked briskly in the opposite direction, her steps much quicker now, driven by an urgency to escape. To find solitude. To breathe.

The corridor leading to the residential wing was quiet, lit only by lanterns affixed at regular intervals along the walls. Her room was only a few more turns away. She didn’t notice the sound of footsteps behind her at first—her mind was too distracted, replaying the encounter again and again like a loop she couldn’t shut off.

But then the sound grew louder.

More deliberate.

Her instincts kicked in, and she slowed, then turned just in time to see someone step directly into her path. She had to stop suddenly to avoid a collision.

Aira blinked, her heart jumping.

It was Lady Vivian.

She was dressed in an elaborate dark crimson gown threaded with gold filigree, her pale face framed by thick black curls piled elegantly atop her head. Her lips were painted the color of dried blood, and her eyes—an unnatural shade of red—burned with unmistakable disdain.

"Well, well," Vivian sneered, her voice smooth like silk drawn over glass. "Running back to your little cage so soon?"

Aira’s eyes narrowed, and she instinctively stepped back. "I don’t want any trouble."

"Trouble?" Vivian echoed with a quiet laugh. "Oh, darling. Trouble already found you the moment you allowed yourself to be dragged back alive." Her voice dripped with contempt. "But don’t worry. You won’t last long in the tournament."

Aira remained silent, staring at her without flinching.

Vivian stepped closer, close enough that Aira could smell the sharp, metallic tang of the woman’s perfume—something that reminded her far too much of blood.

"I do hope you put on a good show, though," Vivian murmured, her tone turning almost dreamy. "I’d love to watch your final moments. Maybe even drink to them."

She leaned in, her lips curling in a cruel smile.

"A drink of your blood would be nice."

Aira’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands clenched at her sides, and it took all her strength not to react—physically, verbally, emotionally. That was what Vivian wanted. Aira knew her type too well. Predators who fed on fear, who delighted in watching their prey flinch.

"You’ll have to earn it," Aira said quietly.

Vivian’s smile faltered—just a flicker.

"Careful, pet," she hissed. "Your master might not be there to protect you next time."

"I don’t need protection," Aira replied, her voice firmer now. "Especially not from women who hide behind silk and threats."

For a second, neither moved. The corridor was tense, heavy with unspoken things.

Aira knew that although Zyren wasn’t close by, Vivian who was much more powerful than her still wouldn’t dare to openly harm her.

Then Vivian chuckled and stepped back, shaking her head. "We’ll see. Enjoy the next couple of days of the rest of your life darling."

With a swish of her gown, she turned and vanished down a side hall, leaving Aira standing in the middle of the corridor, her pulse still racing.

Aira let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She turned again toward her room and walked faster, not out of fear—but resolve.

They all expected her to fall. To break. To die.

But she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

Not Zyren. Not Vivian.

Not anyone.

She reached her chamber door and shut it behind her with more force than intended, the sound echoing through the small stone space. The moment it latched, she sagged against it, her breath leaving her in a heavy exhale.

The silence in the room pressed in around her like a second skin. No guards. No eyes. No taunts or cryptic warnings. Just her. Alone.

Aira pushed off the door and walked toward the low-burning hearth at the far wall. The fire barely crackled, its light casting long shadows that danced along the stone. She sat down at the edge of her bed and let her fingers drift over the rough weave of the blanket. Her hands were still trembling.

Zyren’s words came back again, clearer this time.

"I hope you survive."

He hadn’t meant it kindly. She knew that. Not with the way his fingers had gripped her waist like she was property. Not with the casual insult that followed. Pet. That word clung to her like filth.

But... even now, part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that there had been something else behind his words. A test? A challenge? A warning? Or something she didn’t yet understand?

Why even bother saying anything at all? Why warn me?

Aira’s fists clenched in the fabric of her blanket.

And then there was Vivian.

The venom in her words had been real. Not posturing. Not politics. Vivian wanted her dead—not just removed from the tournament, but erased. Consumed.

"A drink of your blood would be nice."

Aira shuddered at the memory.

She had heard rumors about Vivian the moment she had stepped foot in the Castle . A noblewoman who clung close to Zyren like he was her lifeline. What she hadn’t expected was the level of malice—so personal, so visceral.

’Fight?’ She mumbled out loud to herself in a daze as she sat on the floor staring up at the ceiling of her room.

’I don’t know how!’ She mumbled out loud as she wondered if this was how she was indeed going to die.