15. Ashale

Victory pulsed through my veins, a heady rush that made my senses flare.

The iron tang of blood, my opponent's and a little of my own, permeated the air.

The cold, rough stone under my bare feet, still slick with sweat and evidence of their fierce battle, was a tactile confirmation of my triumph.

My ears picked up the fervent whimpers and occasional cheers of the spectators, a symphony of awe and respect.

I took a moment to stretch, feeling the tightness in my muscles ebb away.

The adrenaline, however, still coursed through me, and I yearned to share my victory, to bask in it with Nova.

The anticipation of seeing her face, of feeling her embrace, was almost as exhilarating as the fight itself.

The promise of her touch was intoxicating.

Drawing in a deep breath, I began making my way to the Prize Pool.

Each step was a reminder of the reward that awaited me, a reward I'd grown to cherish more than any other — the presence of my fated mate.

The cacophony of the pit, the shrill cries of bets placed and debts settled, faded as my sole focus narrowed to the doorway that led to Nova.

However, as I neared, an odd sense of unease settled in me.

My steps slowed when I noticed the two unusually large guards flanking the entrance.

Their polished armor reflected the ambient lights, but their expressions were dark and foreboding.

The door, typically ajar to welcome the victor, was shut tight.

Brushing off the apprehension threatening to grip me, I approached confidently. "Move aside," I commanded, expecting them to yield immediately.

They were, after all, just gatekeepers, and I was the pit's reigning champion.

Yet, to my astonishment, they didn't budge.

One of the guards, the larger one with a scar cutting across my cheek, stepped forward. "Not this time, Ashale," he grumbled, his voice thick with veiled contempt.

His azure eyes, usually calm and calculating, flashed with irritation.

The rich aroma of the guard's leather armor and the metallic undertone of the cold steel they wore filled my nostrils.

I was hyper-aware, taking in every detail, every twitch. "What's the meaning of this? I have the right to claim my Prize."

The other guard, his eyes a cold shade of grey, responded with a smirk. "Orders from above. You're to come with us."

My heart raced, an oddity considering I'd just emerged from a battle.

The subtlest hint of Nova's floral scent teased my senses from beyond the door, compelling me to push forward.

With a growl, I tried to force my way past, but the guards held firm, their combined strength halting my progress.

I felt the cool, hard pressure of one guard's gauntlet against my chest, forcing me back.

The whimper of leather against leather and the slight creak of the guard's armor grated on my ears.

My heightened senses, a gift of my lineage, sometimes became a curse, making him feel trapped, ensnared in a web of details.

"Enough, Ashale," the scar-faced guard warned, his voice dripping with a satisfaction that made my blood boil. "It's not the Prize Pool you're heading to."

The implications of that statement made my stomach churn.

What could I possibly have done to merit unexpected detainment?

I had always played by the rules, hadn't I?

The grey-eyed guard, apparently relishing my confusion, motioned down a corridor. "Move."

I hesitated, torn between the need to see Nova and the realization that resistance might only make things worse.

With a resigned sigh, tasting the bitterness of the situation on my tongue, I began walking, the guards flanking me closely.

As they moved away from the doorway, I couldn't help but cast one last longing look towards the Prize Pool, my thoughts consumed by Nova.

The subtle undercurrents of the arena seemed to blend into a monotonous drone.

The sole beacon of clarity was the memory of Nova's smile, the softness of her touch.

With a heavy heart and a growing dread, I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever see Nova again.

* * *

The pathto the Supervisor's office was eerily silent, and I could hear every footfall echo back, each step ringing in my ears like the muffled drum of impending doom.

The normally bustling prison corridors seemed deserted.

For a place usually alive with prisoners and guards, it felt unsettlingly still.

The office itself was positioned at the very end of a long corridor, a beacon of bright light shining through the door's frosted glass panel.

It looked out of place, too polished for such a gritty environment.

As the guards nudged me closer, the smell of old paper and fresh ink started to fill my nostrils, reminding me of officialdom and bureaucracy, worlds away from the battle pits.

Finally, I reached the entrance.

One of the guards tapped a code into the security panel, and the doors slid open with a soft hiss.

I was met with a waft of a familiar musky aroma.

Before I could even see him, I knew who was there:

Sneik.

As I stepped in, my gaze settled on the Supervisor's large polished desk, and there he was, standing to attention to one side.

Sneik, the very bane of my existence, with that characteristic crooked grin stretching across his face.

His dark eyes glinted with malice, but it was that smile, a smile that promised nothing good, that made my stomach drop.

"Ashale," he drawled, rolling my name on his tongue as if tasting a delicacy. "Didn't expect to see you so soon."

Swallowing my apprehension, I replied, my voice steady. "Can't say the same. Somehow, I had a feeling you'd be behind whatever this is."

He chuckled, a sound that was dry and humorless. "Oh, I'm always around. Watching."

Every instinct in my body was on high alert.

I could feel the cold, regulated air of the room brushing against my skin, could hear the faint hum of the machines powering the building, and even the soft ticking of an analog clock.

Despite the bright lights of the room, everything felt cold and detached.

The Supervisor, a tall, imposing figure, emerged from the shadows behind his desk.

His skin was pale, and his eyes, devoid of any emotion, watched me closely. "Thank you for joining us, Ashale," he said, his voice a deep baritone.

I took a deep breath, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. "What's this about?"

Sneik's laughter cut through the room again. "Always straight to the point, aren't you? Patience, Ashale. All will be revealed."

The Supervisor tapped on a holographic display that materialized from his desk, bringing up a series of images.

They were of my previous fights, every move captured in high-definition clarity.

The image focused on one image — the most recent.

I watched, puzzled, as I saw myself unleashing my spirit animals.

They darted, roared, attacked, and defended, all at my command.

"What is this?" I asked, my voice edged with annoyance.

The Supervisor fixed me with a steady gaze. "Do you recognize these?"

"Of course. They are of my fights. My victories," I added, emphasizing the last word. "Why?"

The Supervisor's lips thinned, a clear sign of displeasure. "There have been… concerns. Accusations."

My heartbeat quickened.

I could feel it pounding in my chest, the rhythm echoing in my ears. "Accusations? Of what?"

Sneik leaned forward, the predatory glint in his eyes growing more pronounced. "Cheating," he whispered, drawing out the word, relishing it.

I stared at them, incredulous. "Cheating? I fought with all my might, with all my skill! Every victory I've earned has been with my own strength!"

Sneik's mocking smile grew wider. "Ah, but that's the thing, Ashale. These…" He waved at the images of my spirit animals. "….They're not your spirit animals, are they? The first set are but the second… And in the pit, support from other fighters is frowned upon."

The Supervisor nodded in agreement. "There's been talk. Whispers. Rumors that your connection with this second set of spirit animals is not… legitimate. That you've cheated the system."

The weight of their gaze, the weight of the accusations, pressed down on me, making the room feel smaller, more oppressive.

My senses, usually a gift, now felt like a curse, amplifying every detail, every sensation, making it all more intense.

The Supervisor's voice, calm and even, broke through my whirlwind of emotions. "You stand accused, Ashale, of cheating. And here, in this prison, cheating is a very grave offense."

* * *

"The second set of spirit animals,"the Supervisor began, his voice dripping with icy detachment, "they were not yours, were they?"

I could feel a pit forming in my stomach, a sensation like sinking into quicksand, pulling me deeper into the mire.

The very air of the room, once stagnant, now bore down on me, thickening with each passing moment.

Sneik's smirk grew. "Well, Ashale?"

He leaned forward, eyes probing, searching for any hint of a reaction.

Memories of the fight came rushing back: the raw exhaustion, the fading strength, the despair that loomed large.

And then, just when all hope seemed lost, the surge of spirit animals, familiar yet foreign.

Nova's animals.

Their presence had been a saving grace, an unexpected boon that had propelled me to victory.

"No," I managed to croak, voice rough with emotion. "They were not mine."

The room felt suddenly much smaller.

The distant hum of the machinery grew louder in my ears, the smell of old papers, of polished wood, and of Sneik's cologne invaded my nostrils, making it hard to breathe.

The lights overhead, bright and glaring, seemed to pulse, every blink like a strobe, disorienting me.

"I thought as much," the Supervisor declared, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting on the table. "You see, Ashale, there are rules, even in a place such as this."

Sneik's chuckle echoed in the confines of the office. "Did you really think we wouldn't notice? That you could flaunt the rules and get away with it?"

The weight of the situation bore down on me, making my knees feel weak.

My skin felt cold, clammy, as if icy fingers were tracing patterns on my back, drawing shivers from my spine.

I knew they would notice… but not this fast.

The very air I breathed felt like it was drawn from a cavern, damp and heavy.

"I…" I started, trying to find the words, but everything seemed stuck in my throat.

The Supervisor raised a hand, cutting me off. "We have recordings, Ashale. Recordings of every fight, every movement, every moment. If anyone were to review them, it would be clear that there were two distinct sets of spirit animals." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "One set from you, and one set not."

I thought back to the pit, to the exact moment when Nova's spirit animals had come to my aid.

The visual discrepancy would be clear, the difference in the animals evident.

My tarigon, my bird, my octar versus Nova's.

As much as I wished to deny it, to argue, the evidence was irrefutable.

Sneik reveled in my discomfort, a smug satisfaction evident in my eyes. "You see, Ashale, no outside assistance is allowed. It's against the rules."

Despair threatened to swallow me whole.

The realization of my situation, the gravity of the offense, and the implications of what was to come weighed on me like chains, pulling me down.

The walls of the office seemed to close in, the air growing thicker, harder to breathe, harder to think.

All I could feel was a void, a void where hope once resided.

"No," I finally whispered, voice hoarse, words barely audible. "I didn't think."

The Supervisor's eyes bored into mine, cold and emotionless. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I closed my eyes, every fiber of my being screaming to fight, to defend, to argue.

But the stakes were too high.

If I implicated Nova, drew her into this mess, the repercussions would be severe.

I couldn't, wouldn't, let her suffer for my sake.

"I accept the charges," I said, voice trembling but determined.

My spirit felt crushed, trapped in a cage from which there was no escape.

Some battles were worth fighting, others you just had to sacrifice for.

Sneik's laughter rang out, triumphant and mocking, echoing through the room.

But it was the silent nod from the Supervisor, the finality of it, that truly drove the point home.

I had lost.

* * *

The Supervisor's chambers,which were already dim, felt like they were growing darker by the second.

The judgment had been delivered, and its weight pressed heavily on my chest.

"You are disqualified," the Supervisor stated with a cold voice. "A month in solitary confinement."

"A month?" I began to protest.

My senses, already in overdrive, heightened.

The sharp tang of antiseptic filled my nostrils, the stuffy odor of the Supervisor's chamber enveloping me.

My heart thundered in my ears, drowning out the distant hum of the prison beyond.

The Supervisor lifted a hand, effectively silencing me. "My decision is final."

I could feel the onset of a desperate anger, a blaze that consumed my being.

The fine hairs on my neck stood erect as if charged with static.

My palms were sweaty, and every inch of my body felt hyper-aware, my muscles coiled and ready to lash out.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and the two burly guards entered.

Their uniforms seemed more vivid than before, the deep blues standing out against the dull grey of the room.

They moved in synchrony, eyes devoid of emotion as they approached to grab me.

"Come on, big guy," one of them grunted as he reached for my arm.

Before I could react, Sneik, who had been lurking by the door, decided to voice my unsolicited thoughts. "You always thought you were better than the rest of us," he sneered, taking a step closer. "Tomorrow, I win. And Nova? She'll finally be mine."

My vision reddened, a surge of adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The very mention of Nova's name lit a fire within, an uncontrollable need to protect her.

I could hear the dull thud of my heartbeat, echoing the rising tempo of my anger.

My skin burned with fury, my fingers itching to wrap themselves around Sneik's throat.

As the guards tried to pin me down, I struggled with renewed vigor.

Their grip, cold and unyielding, battled with the heat that pulsed from my core.

Their grunts and expletives were just white noise, a background to the single, overpowering thought consuming me:

I cannot let Sneik have Nova.

Twisting and turning, I managed to break free for a split second, but the guards were relentless.

They pressed on, determined to subdue me, their breaths, hot and fast, brushing against my face.

In the midst of the tussle, the thought of solitary confinement loomed large.

The isolation, the sensory deprivation, the darkness.

I remembered it all too well.

The oppressive silence was punctuated only by the occasional drip of water, the way time seemed to stretch and distort until minutes felt like hours.

But it wasn't the thought of the confinement that terrified me.

It was the possibility of leaving Nova vulnerable, of leaving her to the whims of Sneik, that gnawed at my soul.

"Wait!" I shouted, desperate for a solution.

The tumult in the room seemed to halt for a brief moment as if the universe was granting me one final reprieve.

Drawing a deep breath, my senses tingling with the urgency of the situation, I pitched my voice, trying to sound as calm and composed as possible, even as my body ached and my thoughts raced. "I have another solution."

The Supervisor, taken aback, leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "Go on," he said, intrigued despite himself.

Swallowing the dryness in my throat, I spoke, trying to harness every ounce of my conviction. "One last fight. Tomorrow. If I win, the charges are dropped. If I lose… I'll accept any punishment you see fit. Double the time in solitary if you want."

The room was silent, save for the raspy sound of my own breath and the muted shuffling of the guards.

Every eye fixed on the Supervisor as he considered my proposition.

Sneik, face twisted in a snarl, began to protest, but the Supervisor silenced him with a mere glance.

Time seemed to elongate, every second stretching out into eternity, as I awaited the final judgment.

* * *

It was daring,a little audacious, but perhaps it was the jolt needed to keep my freedom and protect Nova from Sneik's clutches.

"An auxiliary fight," I began, trying to paint a vivid picture. "Imagine two fighters in the pit, each one paired with someone outside wielding their unique abilities. The roar of the crowd, the sheer anticipation, the unpredictability! It would be the greatest spectacle this prison has ever seen."

The Supervisor leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, as he listened.

The dim overhead lights caught the shimmer in his eyes, hinting at the cogs turning within his mind.

The air grew stagnant.

"It's an interesting idea," he mused, scratching his chin. "But it's… unconventional. And not something we have done before."

I inhaled deeply, grounding myself. "It's time for a change," I pressed, feeling the smooth cold floor beneath my feet as I stepped closer. "It's something new, something fresh. The spectators would love it."

He knew as well as I that our fights were broadcast all over the galaxy and bet on by millions.

Big events like this didn't happen often.

It would be a real draw, increase the income for the prison, and, best of all, stroke the Supervisor's ego.

Before the Supervisor could respond, Sneik chuckled, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard. "Why are we even considering this nonsense?" He smirked, glancing my way. His eyes were predatory, and I could hear the insidious lilt in his voice. "You just want another shot because, you know in a regular match, I'd have the upper hand."

Ignoring the burning in my cheeks and the rush of blood roaring in my ears, I countered:

"If you're so confident, why not take up the challenge? Prove it in the ring."

Sneik smirked, a hint of something darker behind his gaze.

He approached the Supervisor's desk, his boots clicking on the floor, and I could feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. "I have a proposal of my own," he began, confidence dripping from every word. "I'll agree to this ridiculous setup on one condition."

The Supervisor, ever the fan of dramatics, gestured for him to continue.

Sneik's eyes locked onto mine, the venom evident. "I fight him. Just him and me, each with our chosen support. Winner takes all. I win, he serves double his solitary time, and I get Nova. He wins… his prison time becomes mine and he goes free."

I clenched my fists, the coarse fabric of my clothes pressing into my palms.

The audacity of his proposal made my head spin.

Yet, the allure of freedom, the chance to protect Nova, beckoned enticingly.

"Very well," the Supervisor finally said, drawing out the suspense. "Ashale, do you accept?"

"I go free, along with Nova," I said.

The Supervisor shook his head. "One life for one. Two lives are not equal to one."

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded.

The stakes were unimaginably high.

I could hear the distant murmur of the prison beyond the chamber walls, the soft hum of electric lights, and the rhythmic beat of my own heart. "I accept."

The Supervisor clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and resounding. "Excellent! Tomorrow, then. Prepare yourselves and your support."

The guards ushered me out, but not before I took one last look at Sneik.

He was smiling, the curve of his lips almost sinister.

A pang of dread swept over me, accompanied by the chilling realization that maybe this was what Sneik wanted all along.

He had laid the trap, and I had walked right into it.

Still, as the doors slid shut behind me, I held onto a glimmer of hope.

If we could summon a dragon tonight, we would finally be free.

The fragrant memories of open fields and blue skies fueled my determination.

The thought of Nova's embrace, the soft touch of her fingers against my skin, further steeled my resolve.

She would not be allowed to go free, that was the bargain… but perhaps I could swap my freedom for hers.

She would be allowed to go free in my place.

Yes, I thought. The Supervisor might entertain that.

He was one for drama.

But the flip side of that coin was too harrowing to even consider.

Losing Nova to Sneik?

Spending months in a dark, cold cell?

It was a fate second only to what Nova would have to endure:

Being with Sneik and his whims.

I shuddered, the weight of the impending duel pressing heavily on my shoulders.

It was a small reminder of what was at stake, and I gripped it tightly, holding onto that beacon of hope.

For tomorrow would be the most significant battle of my life.

And I had to be ready.