Page 324 of House Ignis

We had to survive the primordial hunger of the Woods, endure the tightening throat of the shrinking radius, and outlast every other team until only one remained. And then, the ultimate cruelty: turn on each other.

One champion.

One crown. One coveted seat in the Astral Guard.

I adjusted my leathers on the contestants’ mat, my fingers fumbling with the buckle.

My body ached—sore didn’t even touch it.

Bruises were layered over bruises, my muscles screaming from the last match, and the fresh stitches on my thigh burned with every shift of my weight.

My magic had clawed its way back from the brink, but it felt jagged and raw.

And beside me stood Asher. My beautiful, lethal undoing.

He bent to stretch, the black leathers molding to his frame like a second skin made of shadow. His dark hair fell forward as he reached for his boots, looking every bit the apex predator even after days of relentless carnage. He was unshakable, a steady pulse of silver-eyed steel in a world made of glass.

“You keep staring like that and I’ll forget there’s an audience watching.”

My stomach flipped, a traitorous thrill racing through me. Gods, this male.

Even now, after the steam and the desperation of our shower—after he’d tenderly rubbed the tension from my shoulders and playfully tickled me until I finally fell into a dreamless sleep—he still had the power to make me melt.

I tightened my grip on my dagger, looking toward the high wall that separated us from the unknown.

The Woods were hungry, but we weren't just prey. We were the storm.

"Let them watch," I sent back, my gaze hardening as the transport runes beneath our feet began to hum. "Let's give them a final act they'll never forget."

The horns sounded, deep and resonant, slicing through the buzz of conversation. The crowd fell still as the announcer strode to the platform at the arena’s edge, his armor gleaming beneath the light of the twin suns.

“Competitors, today marks the beginning of the final phase of the Aegos Trials.”

The crowd erupted—cheers, stomps, the crackle of magic flaring in the stands.

He lifted a hand, silencing them. “Each of you will wear a band that tracks your life signature for the Academy. It will flare if you or your team is eliminated, allowing us to monitor your safety and progress. There will be no drones, no healers, and no arena walls—only your heartbeat and your bond. The rest is up to you.”

The murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind through flame.

“The Veylaith Woods will not remain endless,” the announcer continued.

“Every hour, the radius will shrink, driving you closer and closer together until, by the third day, only a narrow circle remains. When the last team stands, partners will turn against one another—until a single champion claims the crown and a place in the Astral Guard.”

The stands erupted again—cheers, jeers, shouts of names and House banners flashing in the light.

He smiled then, sharp as a blade. “No killing. Injuries will be healed once you are eliminated. The goal, as always, is survival, skill, and cunning. Outlast. Outthink. Endure.”

He paused, the weight of the moment stretching taut as a bowstring.

“May the gods be in your favor.”

The crowd exploded—stomping, chanting, a feverish roar.

And then Asher’s hand closed around my waist, his palm settling over the bond mark and holding me there.

“Ava,” he said—low, rough, almost broken.

His forehead pressed to mine, eyes shut like he was trying to memorize the feel of me.