The Battle Begins
The arena was alive with anticipation as Eryon and Misery stepped into the ring. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows across the packed stands, where students and instructors alike leaned forward to catch every detail of the match. The crowd’s murmur grew louder as the combatants faced each other, their energy palpable even to those farthest from the ring.
Eryon’s heart pounded in his chest, his wolf stirring uneasily beneath his skin. Misery stood opposite him, her blade gleaming in the torchlight and her crimson eyes locked onto his with unsettling intensity.
“You look nervous,” Misery said, her lips curving into a sly smile.
Eryon forced his jaw to unclench. “I’m just wondering how long this will take.”
Misery’s laughter was soft and predatory. “Oh, darling, it’ll take as long as I want it to.”
The bell rang, and Misery moved first, her speed a blur as she struck. Eryon deflected her blade with his own, the clash ringing out like thunder. She attacked again, her strikes relentless and calculated, each one testing his limits.
The crowd roared with approval as the fight escalated. Misery’s movements were fluid and almost hypnotic, a deadly dance that drew Eryon in even as he fought to keep his distance.
“You’re quick,” she remarked, her blade slicing through the air. “But you’re holding back. Why?”
Eryon didn’t answer, focusing instead on countering her attacks without revealing his full strength. His wolf snarled in frustration, urging him to strike harder, to end the fight. But he couldn’t risk it—not with so many eyes on him.
Adrian watched from the sidelines, his jaw tightening as Misery pressed closer to Eryon. His focus shifted between the ferocity of the match and the way Lyra fidgeted nervously in the stands. Adrian’s chest tightened with jealousy he couldn’t suppress.
Misery’s taunts grew sharper as the fight wore on, her strikes coming closer and closer. “You’re afraid of something,” she hissed, her blade grazing his shoulder. “But it’s not me, is it?”
Eryon gritted his teeth, deflecting her next blow and stepping back. Misery lunged, her blade aimed for his chest, but he sidestepped at the last second, catching her wrist and twisting it just enough to disarm her.
The crowd gasped as Misery stumbled, but she recovered quickly, her eyes narrowing with frustration—and something else.
“You’re holding back,” she hissed, her fangs bared as she pinned him to the ground. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Why? What are you afraid of?”
