14. Nova

The fighting pits, a swirling vortex of sounds and sensations, had been my daily reality ever since my imprisonment.

From my vantage point, I could see, hear, and feel every strike, every shout, every heartbeat.

But today, the atmosphere felt more palpable, as thick as a humid summer night.

Ashale's form, usually so confident and fierce, seemed to waver.

Each step he took was a clear effort, and the usual sharpness in his eyes had dulled.

I felt a hollow pit in my stomach, the sense of dread palpable.

I watched as he bravely summoned his spirit animals, their ethereal forms fighting with all their might.

Yet, as the battle raged on, the harmony of the fight shifted.

The scents of the pit — the unique mix of sweat, sand, and blood — intensified as Ashale's movements became more and more sluggish.

The clamor of the audience, their shouts of encouragement and excitement, turned into a blurry background noise.

The sharp tang of fear mixed with the acrid odor of anticipation.

My skin tingled with every blow that Ashale took, each impact resonating through my very being.

My heart raced.

I wasn't just an observer; I was a part of this battle, their destinies intertwined.

When it became evident that Ashale's strength was ebbing, an instinct, powerful and undeniable, surged within.

Without hesitation, I released my own spirit animals into the pit.

Their presence was immediately felt, their strength complementing Ashale's, turning the tides of the battle.

However, the fight was far from over.

Though my spirit animals fought valiantly alongside Ashale's, it was clear that they were both running on borrowed time.

The sounds of the pit became more frantic — the gasps, the anticipatory murmurs, the shouted bets on the outcome.

My hands clenched the railings of the Prize Pool, my knuckles white, every fiber of my being urging Ashale on, willing him to find the strength to endure.

The ending was nothing short of miraculous.

Ashale's final triumph, with the aid of my spirit animals, was a moment forever etched into my memory.

The chorus of cheers and applause rang in my ears — all of it was a blur compared to the look in Ashale's eyes when he gazed up at me.

Exhaustion.

Gratitude.

Love.

As the arena slowly emptied, the sounds and scents of victory dissipating into the night, a stark realization settled over me.

They couldn't keep doing this.

Ashale's strength was waning.

I could hear the labored rhythm of his breathing, even from my position above the ring.

Time was running out.

I ascended my platform and took my place in the Prize Pool.

They needed an escape.

A permanent solution.

Summon the dragon.

The creature of legends and their last hope.

They needed to summon the dragon to free them from this prison.

And they needed to do it now.

* * *

The Prize Poolwas a place of mixed emotions for me.

It represented freedom in small doses, a fleeting moment to be away from the drudgery of prison life.

Today was no exception as I waited, counting each minute that passed, each heartbeat echoing in my chest.

Ashale would be here soon, I assured myself.

Every so often, the cool brush of the wind would tousle my hair and offer a brief respite from the oppressive heat of the prison.

The atmosphere in the Prize Pool was a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

Whispers passed between the Prizes, but I paid them no heed.

My eyes, ears, and entire being were fixated on the upcoming moment:

Ashale's victory and the ritual of him Claiming me once again.

But as time dragged on, the familiar rush of victory, the familiar figure striding up to Claim me, never materialized.

Seconds turned into minutes, and my anticipation shifted to concern.

I strained my ears, attempting to discern any familiar voice from the cacophony below.

At first, I thought I had missed him, perhaps distracted by another Prize or a fleeting thought.

So, I made my way to the window, my hands slightly trembling.

Peering down, the pit was a mosaic of movement and color, but Ashale was conspicuously absent.

The vastness of the area was disorienting.

Sounds of fights and distant cheering merged into a dissonant symphony.

My skin tingled with unease.

I could feel the curious gazes of the other Prizes upon me, sensing my anxiety.

I tried to reach out to ask if anyone had seen Ashale.

I moved to the next window, desperately scanning for any sign of Ashale.

The smooth glass pane felt cool under my fingertips.

"Have any of you seen Ashale?" I called out, attempting to catch the attention of a neighboring Prize.

The female, adorned in silken fabrics, merely cast me a dismissive glance before returning to her own world of worries.

Undeterred, I approached one of the guards.

His armor was cold and unyielding, nothing like the warmth of Ashale's embrace I was so used to.

"Where is Ashale?" I asked, my voice tinged with desperation.

But the guard merely smirked, savoring my distress like a rich wine, and turned away without a word.

Tension tightened around me like a vice grip.

My senses were awash with the overwhelming stimuli of the Prize Pool.

The distant roars of the crowd, the dizzying array of colors and shapes in the pits below, and the faint aroma of exotic flowers masking the less savory scents of the prison.

Everything seemed amplified, making it even harder for me to think clearly.

I felt like I was in a trance, the weight of not knowing where Ashale was pressing down on me.

The sour tang of worry on my tongue, the rough texture of the stone walls I brushed against, the distant hum of chatter — all of it swirled around in a dizzying tempest.

A chilling thought crossed my mind.

What if something had happened to Ashale?

What if he'd been injured, or worse?

The idea gripped my heart, causing it to race uncontrollably.

I tried to shake off the thought, but it clung to me, persistent and unyielding.

Taking deep breaths, I attempted to ground myself.

The feel of the floor beneath my feet, the rhythmic sound of my own breathing, the faint scent of the flowers I wore in my hair — I focused on these simple sensations, pushing away the rising panic.

But no matter how hard I tried, the truth remained.

Ashale was missing.

And I had no idea where he was or what had happened to him.

The last rays of the sun were disappearing beyond the horizon, casting the Prize Pool in shades of twilight.

As the lights of the prison started to glow brighter, casting eerie shadows on the walls, I stood alone, surrounded by a world of uncertainty.

Confused and lost, my heart heavy with dread, I faced an unsettling night ahead, haunted by the whereabouts and fate of Ashale.

* * *

My usual alertnesson the platform, primed for any possible danger, was muddled.

The gleaming lights, the hustle and bustle, and the usual sensory overload of the arena were background noise compared to the heavy weight of concern gnawing at me.

The past few hours had been a whirlwind of anxiety, and the suspense of Ashale's unexplained absence loomed large.

The collective anticipation of countless beings hung in the air.

It should've been intoxicating — the raw iron of sweat, the sweetness of perfumed Prizes, the tantalizing aroma of exotic delicacies from food vendors.

But all I could discern was an acrid undertone of worry, and I wondered if it emanated from my own pores.

Beneath my feet, the platform vibrated ever so slightly, a constant hum that normally soothed my restless energy.

Today, however, it was a harsh reminder of the reality I was ensnared in.

Every so often, a gust of wind would ruffle my hair and clothing, carrying whispers of conversations, but Ashale's name was absent in the murmurs.

Then, my ears picked up the familiar announcement, the Champion's turn to choose.

In my heart, I knew Ashale wouldn't be there, but hope — irrational and stubborn — had my eyes darting around, looking for him.

Instead, my gaze settled on the imposing figure of another Champion as he walked, almost glided, with calculated grace, toward the Prize Pool.

Every instinct told me to shrink back, to fade into the background.

Champions, especially those of his rank, were unpredictable, and I had learned to steer clear of their capricious natures.

But today, I needed answers.

When the Champion bypassed me, selecting a delicate-looking Prize with cascading golden locks, I felt a pang of guilt.

I should've been relieved, but my worry for Ashale overrode that emotion.

Taking a deep breath, I called out. "Champion!"

My voice was surprisingly steady, cutting through the usual chatter.

Heads turned.

I felt a prickle on my skin from the numerous eyes on me, but I kept my focus on the Champion.

The chosen Prize sent me a withering look, her eyes narrowing in suspicion and annoyance.

I sensed the female's fear.

But I plowed on.

"Have you seen Ashale?" I asked, desperately hoping for a hint, a clue, anything.

The Champion stopped, turning to meet my gaze.

His eyes scanned me from head to toe, and for a moment, I felt like a specimen under a microscope.

The weight of his attention was suffocating, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I swallowed, tasting the sharpness of my own apprehension.

His response, when it came, was curt. "Disqualified."

The word hit me like a physical blow.

It echoed in my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the arena.

Disqualified?

What could Ashale have possibly done to merit such a fate?

The implications were dire.

In the pits, disqualification didn't just mean removal from a match.

It often meant a more severe punishment, sometimes even death.

My heart raced, the thumping loud in my ears, each beat filled with dread.

Once vibrant colors of the arena dimmed, replaced by a gray haze of shock.

The Champion, seemingly satisfied with my reaction, moved on, the delicate Prize in tow.

I barely noticed the female's haughty smirk as they departed.

All around me, the world continued its frenetic pace, but I felt as though I were encased in a slow-moving bubble.

The reality of Ashale's situation, the dangers he might be facing, all struck me.

I felt cold, even as the arena's temperature was anything but.

The noises, even the touch of the wind on my skin, felt distant, numbed by the shock of the revelation.

Disqualified.

The word reverberated in my mind, each repetition like a tightening vice around my heart.

Whatever the reason, whatever had transpired in his last fight, I knew one thing for certain: I needed to find Ashale.

And I needed to do it fast.