Finn sprinted. His heart thundered, boots carving deep furrows into the sand. No time to think. Only to act.
A blur of gold and fury filled his vision. Cedric lunged. Finn threw up his shield. Talons slammed into steel. A thunderous clang rang out, echoing across the arena.
Pain. A shockwave tore up Finn’s arm, rattling his bones, nearly dislocating his shoulder. He staggered, the world seeming to roll beneath him. Sweat ran into one eye and Finn didn’t even have time to wipe it away.
The dragon was already closing in.
Again.
Another strike. Another unrelenting, bone-shaking blow. Finn’s boots skidded across the sand, shield trembling beneath the assault. Runes along its rim flickered to life, absorbing some of the impact, but even reinforced magic had limits.
Too strong. Too fast. His arm screamed in protest, muscles threatening to give out.
Claws scraped against metal, shrieking like the wailing of the damned. The shield held—but Finn could feel the enchantments buckling, the magic struggling to disperse the sheer force behind Cedric’s strikes.
The dragon’s breath was hot against his skin. Finn had never felt more like prey. There was no kindness in those golden eyes. No trace of the man who had once looked at him like he was something worth holding on to.
Just hunger. Just instinct. The realization solidified like iron in Finn’s heart. This was not Cedric. Not anymore.
The attacks slowed. Not by much. Not by enough. Finn barely had time to register it—just a shift in weight, a fraction of hesitation before another brutal strike.
But hesitation meant nothing. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t him.
Finn’s breath came fast and ragged, lungs burning with effort, the reek of scorched sand and his own blood thick in his throat. He had let himself believe. Like an idiot.
“Cedric,” he rasped, but it wasn’t a plea. It was a farewell.
The dragon’s head tilted, just slightly. For the barest instant, something almost human flickered in those eyes. Finn’s heart lurched—stupid—and he crushed the thought before it could root. A trick of the light. A lie. The moment vanished as quickly as it had come, if it had ever been there at all.
Cedric struck. His tail scythed through the air.
Finn jumped. Too slow. A spike scraped his leg, sending him sprawling. Sand blinded him. The world tilted.
Jaws snapped.
A second slower, and his leg would have been gone. Finn dropped his shield and rolled, Sunwrath still in hand. I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t.
But he couldn’t keep running forever.
The dragon followed his tumble. Too large, too powerful, too fast. Finn dove beneath Cedric’s belly, surging up on the other side.
The dragon’s head whipped around. Seconds. That’s all he had.
Finn’s sword lifted, his grip tight. Cedric snarled. Finn swung. Not to kill. Not even to wound. Just enough to survive.
The flat of his blade slammed into Cedric’s shoulder, inches below the wing joint. Enough to buy him time.
The scent of blood. The delicious stench of fear. The sharp tang of sweat.
It filled his nostrils, curling through his sinuses like smoke. He could taste it—metallic, hot, the promise of a fresh kill—coating his tongue, pooling in the back of his throat.
Hunger sharpened his mind to a singular edge.
He moved, sleek and sure, muscles rippling beneath gilded armor. Sand shifted under his talons, grains crunching between his claws as he stalked forward, silent as death. The two-legged creature before him was nothing. Fragile. Slow. Weak. A thing to be torn apart.
The beast circled, eyes slitted, nostrils flaring. Heat radiated from his prey’s body in fevered waves, the frantic drumbeat of its heart nearly deafening in the dragon’s ears. Its chest heaved, breath coming too fast, too shallow.
The acrid scent of terror. Prey. Prey could not run forever.
