Chosen by the Beasts, Claimed by the Dragon-Chapter 20: Qualifiers

— ZORYN —

After that first win, the bracket no longer feels hypothetical.

It feels personal.

For the second match, my second opponent is a horned marsh-beast, all muscle and low center of gravity, with a fighting style built around grappling and crushing holds. He tries to lock me down early—arms like iron bands, breath hot and wet against my neck.

It almost works.

Almost.

I slip out of his grip at the last second, twist my hips, and drop him with a clean throw that knocks the wind out of him so hard he wheezes like a bellows. The crowd howls when I plant a foot on his chest and wait for the horn.

He yields, dazed but grinning.

Somewhere behind me, Roan yells, "THAT’S MY ZOR!"

Match three—the third fight is fast.

A fox-kin—slender, clever, and irritatingly smug—who darts in and out like he’s dancing. He nicks me twice, shallow cuts, just enough to draw blood and make the crowd hiss.

I let him think he’s winning for a while, taking the hits and cuts as I observe his technique a little longer... then I fake a stumble.

When he lunges in for what he thinks is the finishing blow, I catch his wrist, pivot, and slam him flat on his back so hard that sand puffs out around us in a huge cloud.

The fight ends with my knee on his chest and his tail flicking in surrender. The crowd starts chanting my name—a sound I’ve longed to hear since last Moonfall. It rejuvenates me.

The fourth match hurts.

A scaled desert brute with thick plates along his arms and spine, resistant to pain and slow to tire. He takes everything I throw at him and gives it back twice as hard. By the time the horn sounds, my knuckles are split, my ribs ache, and my lungs burn.

...But he’s the one on the ground.

Honestly, I don’t even remember forcing him down.

I just remember refusing to stop.

When I leave the arena this time, I’m limping—but smiling.

⸻

By the time the sun starts to dip, there’s only one slot left in the finals bracket.

One last fight.

The qualifier.

The air feels heavier as I step back into the arena, blood dried on my skin, muscles screaming in protest.

The announcer’s voice rings out:

"FINAL QUALIFYING MATCH!"

The gates open, and my opponent is waiting.

A veteran avian, broad-winged with scarred pinions and sharp, calculating eyes. He doesn’t posture or rush me; he stands there patiently.

He bows, and I bow back.

The crowd quiets.

This fight is clean. No tricks. No theatrics.

Just how I like it.

We trade blows like we’re speaking a language only the two of us understand—his aerial feints versus my grounded counters, his reach versus my timing.

He nearly takes me off my feet with a wing-assisted strike, and in response, I almost choke him out when he overextends.

It goes on longer than any match before it—long enough that my body starts to shake from fatigue.

Long enough that I feel Ren’s presence sharpen, tight as a drawn wire.

Then—one mistake.

His wing falters for half a heartbeat.

That’s all I need.

I drive forward, hook my arm under his, twist, and slam him into the sand, pinning him cleanly.

The horn sounds, followed by a long silence.

Then the arena erupts.

I roll off him, chest heaving, and lie there for just a second, staring up at the sky.

I did it.

I qualified.

The avian sits up, breathing hard, then laughs softly.

"Well fought," he says.

I grin. "You too."

I lay there for a long while, and I realize that I can hear the sound of fighting still going on the other side of the arena, too. It sounds furious and fast, loud grunts and growls echoing off the arena walls.

...Then the announcer shouts:

"VICTORY TO RIVEN OF THE SUNMANE LIONS!"

I can’t help the smirk that curls at my lips as the crowd roars for him.

⸻

When I finally get up and leave the arena, reality sinks in.

Tomorrow.

Finals.

And there’s only one name left on the opposite side of the bracket.

Riven of the Sunmane Lions.

I catch his gaze across the arena—gold eyes sharp, smile slow and dangerous. He inclines his head and regards me carefully; there’s no mocking in his expression... he’s acknowledging.

A thrill runs up my spine.

The crowd is already buzzing, whispers racing faster than fire through dry grass.

Dragon versus lion.

Patience versus power.

I crack my knuckles and smile. Tomorrow is going to be fucking awesome.

The moon is already high, and it’s probably almost midnight—but it really didn’t feel that long. The only reason I can tell so much time passed besides the moon is, you guessed it—I’m starving.

My stomach throbs. All of my matches today were intense and took so long I barely got to snack in between, so now I’m in agony.

I’m about to make a beeline to the food stalls (I basically live there now) when I get intercepted. I expect it to be Roan, but it isn’t.

It’s Ren again.

"Oh? You found me before the others," I say.

He just gives me a nod, "You’re hungry. I prepared something, if you’re willing to come with me..." Ren glances behind me, where Roan and my new posse are standing in the distance. He adds thoughtfully, "Just us."

I bite my lip, and suddenly the gem on my tongue feels warm and heavy in my mouth. More time alone?... and I get to pierce him, too?

This is getting into dangerous territory...

But he has food, so it’s worth it.

I nod, "Sure. Lead the way, Young Lord."

Ren gives me a complicated look when I say his title so condescendingly, but he just reaches his hand out to me.

"...You want me to hold your hand?" I ask, furrowing my brows.

He nods without hesitation. "Yes."

I’ve never done shit like this before, so it seems weird to me. I can’t help but ask, "Why?"

"I want to touch you," Ren replies with a straight face, and I feel my stomach twist up—I’m going to blame it on hunger.

"Oh," I clear my throat and place my hand into his. "Fine. Let’s go, quick, before they find me."

We don’t even take one step before I feel a cold breeze wrap around us, and suddenly we’re standing beside a small but steady campfire. There’s a tent set up nearby, and a wooden table filled with plates of warm food.

My mouth starts watering, but I don’t lose all my wits—I look askance at him, "Teleporting isn’t allowed at the festival."

"Neither is punching people," he shrugs, "but sometimes a rule is worth breaking."

I can’t help but laugh, "Okay, fair. Anyway... where are we?"

I’m slowly moving toward the table, but I’m checking out our surroundings at the same time. We’re near a stream, and there are woods around us, but it isn’t dense forest. I can’t even hear the lively sounds of the festival from here, so we must be pretty far.

"This is where I’ve been staying," he answers, guiding me the rest of the way to the table and releasing my hand.

...I kind of miss the warmth, but I’m hungrier than anything, so I immediately start eating.

It’s a vast assortment of meats, a stew, some breads, and even a dessert.

"These are all things I like," I say as I grab a fork and start taking bites from each plate.

"I asked Daeleon for guidance," he answers, sitting on a rock next to the table. "I would have asked directly, but you didn’t have even a breath of break in between your fights today."

I grin, swallowing a mouthful of smoked iguana. "Hell yeah. Today was awesome, and I get to fight Riven tomorrow—aren’t you going to eat? I’ll feel bad if you don’t have a little."

Ren smiles softly—damn, his smile is devastating by the way—and leans onto the table, resting his head on his hand. "I’ll eat once you’re done."

For some reason, I feel a little antsy and awkward, so I grab a small creamy pastry and press it to his mouth, "Eat this."

He looks at me with a bemused expression, but indulges me. Unfortunately, my distraction didn’t work because he takes the creampuff into his mouth in one bite and licks my finger while he does it.

FUCK!

I retract my hand slowly, the coolness of the air against my wet finger sending a shiver through me.

"What’s wrong?" Ren asks, but it’s obvious he’s just teasing me. There’s a knowing glint in those violet eyes that both pisses me off and... and makes my lower belly ache.

I look away and get back to eating, "Nothin’."

"If you say so," he coos, watching me with a softened gaze that tightens my chest.

I stuff myself with so much food, but no matter how much I eat... I still feel hungry.