I tell myself I’m here for the story.
That’s a lie.
I just… I need to see him again.
To confirm it wasn’t some grief-soaked hallucination conjured by adrenaline and nostalgia.
I grip the armrests of my chair so hard my fingers ache.
The panel opens with the event manager announcing tonight’s “victor and reigning champion of the Gheldor Crucible…”
“BLASTAAR!”
And he enters.
Taller than I remember.
Broader.
Wearing combat plating like it’s second skin. Red scales gleaming under the hot lights, gold eyes scanning the room with slow, predatory precision.
He moves like a man used to being watched.
But when he seesme?
Everything changes.
His posture stiffens.
His breath catches—only for a second, but I catch it.
And then hestops.
Not subtle. Not careful.
He just halts mid-step and stares.
Our eyes lock.
And time folds in on itself.
I forget where I am. Who I am. What three years of exile have turned me into.
I’m justhis.
His Rhea.
And he’s my Valtron.
I don’t ask any questions with my voice.
I ask with my eyes.
How?
Why?
Where the hell have youbeen?
