Igniting A Flame {Kingdoms #1}

Thirty-Nine

The air felt unrestrained, violent. A cool breeze seeped through. Lukas felt abstracted as he hazily wobbled from side to side, vision a blur. Those vibrant blue eyes gleaming in his mind, painfully stark. Promise me you will fight. His heart ached, pounding deep and slow. The freedom from that disconsolate pit so sweet. Although his mind grew clear, vacant of that crippling darkness, his motives still remained undecided. Lukas shifted his head towards a scuttle of leather boots against stone and the rustle of clothing. Faint grunts and whispers swarmed around him, distant.

After moments of tussling for clarity, Lukas gazed upon the jostle of people before him. Yevvi gurgled helplessly as a cloaked figure wrapped his gloved hand around his throat. Cesca screaming and pleading, desperately tugging at that black cloak. Lukas's throat closed up, his entire body stiff. Arvin thundered at another figure, throwing himself against the barrier preventing him from using his magic. Then that navy blue leader, prowling around the fumbling group with a predator's ease.

"Where is it?" he growled, grabbing Cesca by the neck and throwing her into the bars, "Where is the rutting stone?"

Lukas winced, barely mustering the strength to whisper. That stone murmured within his pocket, whether in alert or excitement. A sizzling warmth seared through his gut, boiling his veins. Pure, unrelenting rage overtook his limp body. Anger for himself or the sight before him, he did not know. With a measly grunt, Lukas hoisted his aching body off the cold ground and gripped the wall. Those amber eyes flicked to him, dancing with malice.

"Come on," he purred, "Where is it? You know what I'm talking about."

"You have a piss poor ability to hide dangerous items," Lukas smirked, the simmering flame stirring within the magic blue shackles.

"And you have a piss poor ability to fight your opponents," he jeered, glancing at the blue encasing his hands.

Lukas kept his face neutral as he eyed his captor. The words hit deep, to a place that once held him tightly. He wouldn't let it become him again. No. This time, he would fight. This was no place to wrangle, so with a glance to the open cell door and struggling companions, Lukas hurtled into his captor. His head thrummed, screaming at the impact and begging him to rest. He thrusted his fist into the man's stomach, stifling him enough to attempt pinning him back. Blood trickled from his nose and into his mouth, the metal tang slightly distracting. He admitted his combat skills weren't adequate but he could—would change that. Arvin could teach him, yes.

Lukas darted his eyes between the hands struggling to keep his captor down. He would have to be quick. And gods, it had to work. With a swift motion, he slammed his hand into the stone, shattering the blue barrier. He loosened a breath, wasting no time to point that hand at the man and release a whirlwind of flame upon him. His heart dropped at the sight of a feeble line of silver light barely singeing his cheek. Lukas had been so confident. He had conquered the darkness, found hope. Why do these rutting flames still slumber within him?

His captor chuckled, a guttural tone. "There is one thing you will never be, Lukas. And that is a king."

The words struck him like the ruthless crack of a whip, taking the breath from his lungs. Those amber eyes a flame in itself, cunning and merciless. Lukas hissed, his captor sparking a flame to the hand pinning his to the ground before plunging his foot into Lukas's gut. The pain hit him worse, disrupting previous wounds. He hated that his first instinct wasn't to tear off that mask and spy the evil face behind it. He cursed himself for it.