Chosen by the Beasts, Claimed by the Dragon-Chapter 17: Preparation

— ZORYN —

The rest of the open bracket passes in a blur of sweat, sand, and screaming.

By the time the final gong rings, I’ve lost count of how many fighters have been dragged out of the arena limping, bleeding, or grinning like idiots despite the state they’re in. The crowd is hoarse. The air is thick with heat and adrenaline. Somewhere near the lower stands, two boars are already arguing about a call that didn’t go their way.

The announcer’s voice booms overhead, crackling with barely restrained excitement.

"OPEN BRACKET CONCLUDES! FOUR HOURS UNTIL THE CHAMPION’S BRACKET COMMENCES!"

The arena erupts.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders as the tension finally shifts. It isn’t gone, but it’s... redirected.

Roan lets out a low whistle. "Welp. That’s it."

"For them," I say.

He grins, sharp and proud. "For them."

Around us, people start filtering out in clusters. Some are still buzzing, others are already licking their wounds. A few cast glances my way that linger longer than they did yesterday. They’re measuring and curious, maybe even a little wary.

Good.

"Okay," Roan says, clapping his hands once. "You wanna eat, stretch, nap, or punch something?"

"Yes," I answer immediately.

He laughs. "Figures."

"Yeah, so let’s get our show on the road," I sigh, standing from my seat. It’s going to be a bit of a pain wading through the sea of people to leave the stands, but whatever—we have time.

When we finally get out, we don’t go far from the arena.

There’s a shaded clearing not far from the outer wall where competitors tend to gather during breaks. It’s quieter here. Less spectacle, more focus. Fighters stretching, meditating, sharpening weapons they won’t actually be allowed to use.

I drop onto a flat stone and start rolling my wrists, flexing my fingers until the joints pop.

Roan settles beside me, mirroring the motion. "You feel good?"

"Yeah," I say honestly. "Feeling loose—and hungry. As usual."

"Perfect fighting condition," Roan answers.

I smirk. "Right?"

He watches me for a moment, then nudges my knee with his own. "You remember what you do when someone bigger comes at you?"

I snort. "Trip them. Make them mad. Let them overcommit."

"And when someone faster?"

"Bait them."

"And when someone smarter?"

I grin. "Impossible."

Roan chuckles. "You got this."

I nod, feeling the truth of it settle into my bones.

⸻

A soft rustle of feathers announces Orien before he speaks.

"I— um," he says, hovering a few steps away. "I brought water."

I glance up to see him holding two skins, his wings tucked tight to his sides like he’s worried they’ll get in the way.

"You’re a saint," I tell him. "C’mere."

He hands one to Roan first, then me, careful not to touch too much skin. His fingers are warm and steady, but smooth and dainty at the same time.

"Are you nervous?" he asks quietly.

I take a long drink, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Nah."

He studies my face, searching for something. "You don’t sound like you’re lying."

"I’m not," I say. "I like this."

His shoulders relax a fraction. "Good."

He hesitates, then adds, "I’ll be watching closely. For... structural things."

I grin. "Sure. Structural."

His cheeks turn pink. "Yes. Structural."

Roan snorts into his water.

As we’re chatting casually, I catch movement at the edge of the clearing.

Ashen stands a little apart from the others, arms crossed, gaze locked on the arena entrance. I wonder what he’s waiting for this time?

He notices me looking and stiffens slightly.

"What?" I ask.

He exhales. "Nothing. Just—" He hesitates, then straightens. "I’m looking forward to your matches."

I blink.

"...Thanks," I say.

He nods once, clearly relieved that I didn’t punch him again.

Riven passes behind him moments later, shirtless now, golden skin dusted with sand, braids pulled back tight. He glances at me sideways as he walks by.

"Don’t die before we fight," he says casually.

I bare my teeth in a grin. "You first."

He laughs, deep and delighted. "I like you."

"I get that a lot," I reply, then add with a sigh, "and even more since yesterday."

⸻

Eventually, I wander off alone. I only intend to be gone for a few minutes—it’s just nice to have time to myself once in a while.

There’s a shallow stone basin near the edge of the valley, fed by a thin trickle of magically cooled water. I crouch beside it and rinse my hands, watching the sand swirl away.

My reflection stares back at me. Same sharp eyes and crooked mouth. The same long black hair and faint shimmering dragon scales along my neck.

Everything’s the same, but there’s a different weight on my shoulders and behind my gaze.

I press my thumb lightly against my hip, feeling the faint warmth of Ren’s mark beneath the fabric. It hums, barely there. Steady.

I don’t feel smaller. I feel... clearer.

"I’m still one of the guys," I mutter to my reflection. "Just with better odds now."

I snort at myself and stand. When I turn, I almost run straight into Ren.

He’s a few steps back, giving me space, wings folded tight. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes soften when they meet mine.

"You ready?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say. "You?"

He smiles faintly. "I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous for someone else."

That does something warm and stupid to my chest.

"Well," I shrug, "try not to throw up when I win."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "No promises."

Before I can say anything else, a horn sounds—long, deep, commanding.

Ren steps back immediately. "They’re calling you."

I nod, turning toward the arena.

When I glance back over my shoulder, he’s still watching.

Just... believing.

⸻

The sun hangs lower now, casting the arena in gold and shadow, and the stands are packed again—but there’s a much bigger turnout this time. After all, more people are interested in the big leagues rather than the little ones.

The announcer’s voice booms once more, carrying across the valley. "CHAMPION’S BRACKET—PREPARE!"

My name is second on the list.

The crowd reacts when it’s spoken, cheering loudly and excitedly. The entire valley is echoing with the beastworld’s adrenaline tonight.

I roll my neck once, crack my knuckles, and step toward the sand.

Roan’s voice carries after me. "Kick ass!"

Orien’s follows, softer but no less fierce. "Be safe!"

Riven’s laughter echoes from somewhere to my left.

I step into the arena.

The gates slam shut behind me... and I smile.

Let’s fucking do this.