Fireborn

Chapter Five: The First to Fall

He wore a mask when he came to them. Agren tried to tune it out. Someone called him Morgaal. He spoke, and she didn't listen. Torrok nudged her.

    She saw the gleam of steel in Morgaal's fist.

    Agren decided to pay attention.

    "You have your chance to have our mercy. We do not blame you, for you've been raised in the obscurity of moonlight, and the time has arrived to bring the Thesronae people into the light of day. Your Mothers want only your servitude. You are trained to put all others before yourself, but no one seems to realize that caring for yourself is just as, if not more important."

    She and Torrok shared a look.

    "Now is your last chance to join us peacefully. If you stand beside us, our Lady will take you in. You will be freed from being forbidden to care for yourself. But if you stand against us, you will taste steel. And perhaps, you may even die. You, girl. Dragon Warrior. Your power does not come from the moon, it comes from within."

    Agren heard Torrok mumbling something under his breath. She turned towards him.

    "We shall not rout. We shall not rout. We shall not rout." She recognized his words as the Creed of the Berserker. It was short, and it was straight to the point, and it was resonating. We, not I. And they would not flee this fight due to fear.

    A fist caught her in the arm, reinforced with steel below the clenched fingers.She recoiled away, her arm throbbing with the burst of pain.

    "Make up your mind."

    Torrok stood up. "I choose Naverryn."

    He took the next blow.

    "Hyro et kaa?" Agren asked.

    He nodded. "Hyro et kaa."

    So they took it. Each blow, each curse, elbow jabs and a nasty kick to the thigh. And Torrok and Agren waited. They knew that if they fought, Morgaal would just bring backup, and they would be killed. The white wolf watched them with her cold amber gaze. Agren got back up again, clutching her gut. She let out a low snarl.

    The smoldering embers somewhere deep within were struggling for breath, trying to survive the white iron's oppressive grip. Smoke must have been sputtering in her soul, and the suffocating pile of crumbling ash choking. She needed to free herself. It was constricting in her lungs. She had to light the flames again. She had to.

    And the urge died away, slowly, and finally Morgaal stopped.

    "You're harder to break than you look."

    "What's that supposed to mean?" she growled.

    He said nothing, and turned, walking out. Torrok sighed and flopped down on the stone. Agren sat down.

    "Well, that felt like that one time I jumped in the Pit with a Stormguard," Agren said.

    "You're a dumbass."

    "Well I know that now. It also may or may not have been my first time."

    "You're even more of a dumbass. Even I wasn't that stupid, and I've fought Luna."

    She snorted. "You're right, that is stupid."

    Her first time in the Pit had been a sudden flash of inspiration, thinking that it would be fun. She had nudged Arid, and he nodded. Agren had been the first volunteer for the next brawl, with Morriah Ridgewalker, Stormguard, vicious, apprentice to Skjorn the Bonewelded. Niora might've slapped her if she hadn't been already so badly beat up.