“Are we to fight these?” Lira asks, eyeing the red dragon as it stretches its wings in a shaft of sunlight.
“No. These are currently reserved for breeding, not fighting.” Selen leans against the railing. “Though at some point—when they’re past prime breeding age—they’ll be shifted to the combat enclosures. Understanding their natural behaviors will help you anticipate what you'll face later. The combat dragons are honed for aggression, but the basic instincts remain.”
I study the silver dragon, which has indeed fixed its gaze on our platform. Its eyes are unsettlingly intelligent, pupils contracting as it tracks our movements. Unlike the others, which seem content to ignore us, this one shows active curiosity.
“That silver one,” I say, pointing. “It's different.”
“Perceptive,” Selen acknowledges. “That's a rare variant. Mountain-silver hybrid. They?—”
“What in the emperor's name is going on here?” The booming voice shatters the relative calm.
Trainer Voss emerges from a side tunnel, his misshapen face contorted with anger. Behind him, two handlers stand at attention, hands on their weapons.
“Handler Selen,” he growls, limping toward our group. “Explain yourself.”
Selen straightens, her posture shifting subtly from instructor to commander. “Advanced training, Trainer Voss. As authorized by Commander Marrek.”
“Advanced training?” Voss spits the words. “You bring raw recruits to observe juveniles like they're on a noble's garden tour?” He gestures angrily at the dragons below. “They aren't pets to be studied!”
“Fear without understanding leads to mistakes,” Selen replies, her voice cool. “These recruits showed potential. I'm developing it.”
Voss's eyes narrow as he surveys our small group. His gazelands on me, recognition darkening his features. I can almost hear him thinking,You. The street rat with the smart mouth.
I keep my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
“As you are aware,” Voss continues, turning back to Selen, “juveniles are kept isolated for a reason. They're to view us as threats, not as observers to be tolerated!”
I watch the dragons below, noting how the silver one's posture has changed—its head lowered, muscles tensed, responding to the aggression in Voss's voice even from this distance. Not mindless killers then. Perceptive. Reactive. At least, these ones.
“These recruits need practical training,” Selen says, her voice remaining level despite the tension crackling between them. “Theory and observation build foundation?—”
“Theory?” Voss cuts her off with a bark of laughter. “The arena doesn't care about theory. Blood is the only teacher lowlifes and outlaws understand.”
The dragons grow more visibly agitated. The red one spreads its wings, hissing. The black one paces faster, its tail lashing against the ground. The silver one stares directly at us, pupils narrowed to slits.
“This ends now,” Voss snaps. He turns to the handlers behind him. “If Handler Selen believes these recruits are ready for advanced training, then let's give them real advanced training. Take them to the combat pits. Put them with the advanced recruits.”
Selen steps forward. “These recruits aren't yet combat-ready. They haven't even?—”
“By your own admission, they're special,” Voss interrupts. “Worthy of advanced methods. So let's advance them.”
He fixes his gaze on her in challenge, and I wonder if he knows she countermanded his starvation order last night; if this is some kind of deliberate revenge. The Ironhold’s very purpose is tobreed violence and rivalry. Naturally, it would infect and seep into more than the recruits.
A tense silence stretches between them, and I can practically hear my heart hammering in my ribcage. I can see Selen calculating, weighing options.
Then her jaw tightens. “Very well,” she concedes, her voice cold. Her expression returns to an utterly passive mask, as if she couldn’t give a single damn about us—as if this had been her plan all along. “Take them.”
Chapter 8
Selen’s sudden surrender makes my stomach drop. I expected her to fight harder—to stand by her decision, defend it. But she doesn’t. She’s letting us go without a word. Just like that. Like we never mattered at all.
Voss gestures to his handlers. “You heard her, take them.”
The handlers move quickly, surrounding our small group. One grabs my right arm roughly, fingers digging into the muscle. I resist the instinct to fight back, knowing it would only make my situation worse.
As I’m dragged past Selen, I hear her quietly say, “Remember what you learned,” but I’m pulled past too quickly to see her face. Anger flares inside me.What did I learn?Nothing close enough to prepare us for this, I’m certain. She got us into this mess and didn’t follow through with what she started.
We're forced through a different set of tunnels, tilting downward, and the heat and thickness quickly return to the air, tainted with the smell of blood and sweat. The sounds of combat echo through the stone: grunts, shouts, the clash of metal against metal.
