Crown Tournament 3 [Chapter 3]

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More of the Crown Tournament!

Shami

Chapter Three

I stared up at the gaping wound in the ceiling, the jagged tear ripped open by Hyperion’s cataclysmic descent and the thunderous flight of four dragons. The sky beyond was dark and bruised, a smear of stars barely visible beyond the drifting smoke and falling ash. Roux’s voice had vanished from my mind, snuffed out like the last flicker of a dying candle. Her magic, so warm, was gone.

It felt like the world had been carved in half, and I was left on the wrong side of it.

Master Elias lay broken. Roux had been torn away. They had been at my side since the orphanage.

With them gone... who was I now? Just a shattered mirror of what I used to be.

For a moment, the entire Feng household stood frozen. Eyes turned skyward through the ragged scar in the roof, everyone captivated by the enormity of the silence left in Yumi’s wake. They hadn’t lost a kirin like I had, but they’d lost something just as precious… their lady.

The silence was replaced by hushed mutterings that swelled like a rising tide. The household staff, normally composed, splintered into panicked voices and desperate theories.

“She chose to go with them!” one shouted. “We can’t pursue her! You heard what he said. He’ll kill her if we do!”

Another snapped back, voice trembling with frustration. “We don’t stand a chance against four dragons! And the king? He won’t lift a finger. Not after that disaster of a trade deal… He’ll see this as politics, not a kidnapping!”

“Contact the main Feng line,” someone else barked. “They’ll send aid. This is madness, and we will not sit by while Lady Feng is dragged off like a common hostage!”

Their words fell around me like snowfall. Part of me wanted to believe we could work with them. That the vast wealth and resources of Yumi’s family could be turned into a weapon to bring her home. Yes, she had gone willingly, but even a fool could see the truth: her choice had been forced. And we were her friends. No, we were more than that. Dario had surrendered himself for her. I had nearly died for her.

Surely, that meant something.

But I had no time to stir the pot or organize a rebellion. In the far corner of the room, I caught the faint sound of movement—scuffling, strained breathing. Dario knelt beside Haoyu, hands slick with blood and effort. Haoyu was scales and feathers, a mystical fish bird, but he still bled just like any other.

Dario pressed a caladrius amulet against the worst of the wounds. The soft, golden light of healing magic flickered in the shadows like a firefly trying to stay alive in a storm.

That was what I had left now. Not Roux. Not Elias’s wisdom.

And above us all, the ceiling gaped wide, the stars watching with indifference. Or perhaps they were judging me.

If I gave up, what did that say about me? Nothing I wanted said about me, for that I was certain. I absolutely could not give up. No matter how painful the despair, I wouldn’t allow it to break me.

I hurried to Master Elias’s side, my boots sliding slightly on the scorched floor as I dropped to my knees beside him. Yumi had already torn his shirt open, exposing the brutal wound that had been carved into his chest by Aziel’s blast. The edges of the hole were cauterized and blackened, and though Yumi had managed to seal most of it with her healing magic, the damage was far from gone.

I leaned in, pressing my ear gently against the plane of his chest. There it was.

A heartbeat.

But faint… so faint. Each slow thud sounded like a drum struck underwater. Her healing had been interrupted, and though he wasn’t dying this very moment, I had no way of knowing how long he could last in this half-living state.

“Master…” My voice cracked as I whispered the word. “Master, wake up! Please! Wake up.”

He didn’t move.

Behind me, I felt the warm press of a clawed hand at my back, followed by a familiar, trembling voice.

“Amir… will Elias be all right?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to lie. “I don’t know. We need a healer. A strong one. And we need to find Hyperion, too.”

“Yeah. We should…” Wren’s voice faltered which so unlike him. The proud, fire-hearted syrocko drake who usually bristled with attitude now sounded small and unsure. “I hate to admit it, Amir. But I’m scared. What are we going to do?”

“Roux told me… there’s someone who might be able to help. Someone called the Falcon, in the Lightning Straits.” I swallowed thickly, still unsure how much I could trust a whisper from across the bond. “She said the Falcon could heal Elias. Maybe even tell us where the kirin village is.”

“The Falcon?” Wren echoed. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

The words hung between us, heavy as smoke and just as choking. The world suddenly felt immense again. Like an ocean of questions, and I was swimming in it with no compass. To save Elias, I had to chase the name of a stranger I had never heard of, across a continent I barely understood. The Falcon… it sounded like something Valdo and Peeter would name themselves after a mug of ale and a particularly loud game of cards.

A moment passed. Then Wren nudged me again, firmer this time, and his tone had changed. It carried that rare steel he reserved for the moments he felt I needed him most.

“My arcanist… this is our greatest challenge yet. But remember what our masters used to say. Persistence is the key. It’s like opening a prickly pear. If we rush, we bleed. If we give up, we starve. The only way through… is step by step.”

Somehow, his words—so simple, so Wren—cut through the storm clouds in my mind. They stilled the tremble in my hands and calmed my thoughts. I took a long breath and let it out slowly.

“You’re right,” I said at last. “We can’t afford to panic. We need to persist.”

Carefully, I slipped an arm beneath Elias and hoisted him up, cradling him over my shoulder. His body, though still warm, sagged against me with the dead weight of unconsciousness. His limbs, once so full of fire and purpose, now hung lifeless.

Something clinked in my pocket.

I reached down and pulled free the caladrius talisman. It was Yumi’s last gift before she was taken. She’d said it wasn’t enough. Not for a wound this deep. Not for what Aziel had done.

But maybe, just maybe, it could buy us a little time. And time was all we needed.

Time to find the Falcon. Time to fix what had been broken. Time to bring them all back.

I pulled the talisman from my pocket, its golden chain coiling in my palm like a living thing. The charm shimmered faintly. It was warm to the touch, and trembling with dormant magic. With the gentleness of a priest laying relics on an altar, I looped the chain around Master Elias’s neck. The talisman pulsed once, then again… Each pulse like a heartbeat.

“Master… Master, wake up.” My voice trembled.

But again, there was nothing.

His body didn’t stir. His lips didn’t part. The rise and fall of his chest were steady but shallow. The talisman’s glow faltered. Then dimmed. Then died.

It wasn’t enough.

I let out a slow breath, my hope wilting. Roux had been right. The power within the charm had only bought us time.

I turned and spotted Dario at the far end of the room. He was still helping Haoyu, who had just managed to rise again. The great kunpeng’s feathers were slick with sweat and blood. Orochi venom had torn fresh welts into his hide, leaving a map of new scars across his wings and flank. But he was alive.

Dario didn’t look at me. His expression was as unreadable, his thoughts locked behind a wall of silence. I didn’t try to breach it. Dario’s moods had always been storms—wild, unpredictable, and full of sudden outbursts. I didn’t have the energy to weather one now.

“Wren,” I said, placing a hand on his scaled shoulder. “Let’s find Hyperion. Then we’ll meet up with Luna and the others.”

He nodded, fire in his eyes.

Dario and his eldrin, Haoyu, joined us, though they still said nothing. I only left once I had Elias firmly in my arms.

We left the grand hall behind, the polished floors echoing beneath our boots and hooves. The further we walked, the more the weight of our losses pressed down like a second spine.

When we reached the courtyard, I spotted Hyperion just beyond the gate, surrounded by a tense cluster of figures. Raised voices cut the still air.

A fight had broken out.

Two arcanists stood toe-to-toe. Both wore ceremonial robes, embroidered with their eldrin: proud, stylized beasts etched in thread and spirit-bond. One bore a denglong, a creature with the snout of a dog and the serpentine grace of a dragon. The other’s robe was streaked with gold and indigo, depicting a roaring raiju caught mid-leap between jagged bolts of lightning.

“Ming-Sheng! What are you doing?” the denglong arcanist shouted, grabbing at his comrade’s arm.

Ming-Sheng didn’t answer with words. He shoved the man aside. “Lady Feng is gone. Taken! All because she was dragged into this Crown Tournament madness. It’s time to cast out the one who poisoned her loyalty.”

He stepped forward, his body crackling with electrical energy. Sparks arced down his forearms and licked at the ground. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me… maybe early twenties. But there was a fury in him that made him seem ancient and wrathful. His black hair and tight goatee bristled with static, like he’d been forged in a storm.

His arcanist mark was etched into his forehead. It was a snarling raiju diving between two thunderbolts mixed through a seven-pointed star.

“You,” Ming-Sheng growled, pointing at Dario, “need to leave this place. Now.”

I saw the anger in his eyes, but beneath it, pain. It was written in the rigid tension of his shoulders, in the way his voice cracked ever so slightly on the word gone. He blamed Dario for what had happened to Yumi. Maybe because Dario had never seemed to know what he meant to her.

But Ming-Sheng hadn’t been in the Waxing City. He hadn’t seen Dario kneel before Aziel’s blade. Hadn’t seen him surrender Lux, his kirin, to save the woman he’d never known how to love properly, until it was almost too late.

I moved forward, still holding Elias in my arms.

“We’re her friends,” I said, my voice clear. “And we’re here to bring her back.”

“Friends,” Ming-Sheng spat, the word like venom.

The crackle of electricity shimmered over his skin like heat mirages, his presence thick with the scent of ozone and scorched air. He looked as though he had been molded from thunder.

“Lady Feng’s life has been ruined ever since she met that man.” Ming-Sheng’s voice was hoarse with bitterness as he jabbed a finger at Dario. “She pined after him endlessly. And what did he do? Not even a polite rejection. Just cold indifference. He bled her dry for coin and kindness.”

Earlier, one of the Feng servants had warned me that Dario was not welcome in this household. Now I saw why.

“Hey!” Ming-Sheng snarled. “You homeless parasite! Are you even listening?”

Dario, strangely enough, wasn’t. His gaze passed through Ming-Sheng, unseeing. He stood stiff and blank, shoulders slumped, eyes wide… not with fear, but the hollow aftermath of everything that had just shattered.

Ming-Sheng marched forward and slammed a hand into Dario’s chest, shoving him hard against the nearest wall. The crack of impact rang out like a gavel.

“Get out!” Ming-Sheng roared. “You never deserved her! All you ever did was leech off her love—and if not for her last request, I’d have torn your damn throat out already!”

Lightning coursed across his arm in violent pulses, his fist clenched tight and sparking, ready to strike.

A low, terrible growl split the air. “Back away from my arcanist...” Haoyu’s voice came like a storm’s edge. Dario’s kunpeng glided forward, feathers bristling, wings flared wide, and jaws parted to reveal rows of needlelike teeth.

The moment Haoyu spoke, something in Dario flickered back to life. His glassy eyes blinked. He looked from the furious arcanist to his eldrin, then down at the ground.

He sighed. It was long, quiet, and utterly defeated.

“You’re right,” Dario murmured, his voice ragged. “I treated her badly. All of this… this is on me. I’ll go.”

Even Ming-Sheng looked caught off guard. The lightning crawling over his arms fizzled and died, replaced with a confused scowl. “Um. Good. Yeah. Just get out of here.”

Dario turned, not meeting anyone’s gaze, and Haoyu moved to his side like a silent shadow.

Ming-Sheng looked at me next. His scowl softened, just slightly.

“You should go, too,” he said, less harshly. “You’ve been kinder to Lady Feng than he ever was, but this whole mess started after your arrival. I don’t blame you, but her parents might.”

He glanced toward Elias, and his voice lowered. “I hope he survives. But we relied on Lady Feng’s healing. If she couldn’t save him... no one here can.”

The words struck like a cold slap. I had suspected as much, but hearing it aloud—final, and true—was something else entirely.

“Thank you,” I said. “For your honesty.”

Then, from behind us, came a faint, broken voice.

“Elias… I’m sorry, Elias. I wasn’t able to protect you…”

Hyperion had awakened. One vast amber eye creaked open, clouded with pain. His dragon-like body remained motionless, arms curled around himself like a cocoon. But when he saw Elias, a fragile spark of light returned to that eye.

For the first time since the fall, a shred of life stirred in the wounded syrocko drake.