Time stops.

No one makes a sound, for a long, drawn-out moment of shock and fear nothing happens.

Then everything happens at once.

Bursting into motion I run for Brisong. Rosalind dangles between him and his partner, and I must save her. I have to reach her before the guards can fire down on me, must get her to safety.

The crowd screams as gunfire echoes through the arena. Screams of fear now, not screams for blood. Whatever is happening doesn’t matter. My feet pounding the dirt, pushing off with each step, leaping forward, flapping my wings to cover the ground faster.

Reaching Brisong, I hit him with a wild swing, coming up under his jaw. His head snaps back, and my other fist crashes across his jaw, cracking him the other way. No retreat, no quarter. Pounding him, hitting him with everything I have as fast and as hard as I can. His yellow eyes roll up into his head with my last hit and he falls backwards, dropping Rosalind who cries out as her top half drops to the ground.

Rikon drops her, looking around as if confused. He cocks his head at me, shakes it, then stares at me again. He seems lost and presents no immediate threat. Dropping to my knees, I gather Rosalind into my arms and run across the arena.

Only now do I glance into the stands. It almost brings me to a stop. The guards are shooting the crowd. They’re using electrical guns, like the ones the Zzlo use that stun instead of kill, but they’re not shooting me. The crowd is stampeding, trampling over each other in desperation to get out.

“Visidion,” Rosalind says.

I can hear the pain in her voice.

“Come on, you damn fool!” Thrace yells, jerking my attention ahead.

He’s standing at the opening to our tunnel, waving me forward. Behind him I see our friends and other gladiators. Digging deep I rush forward, pouring everything I have into moving faster.

“Ha!” Mesto exclaims as I burst into the tunnel.

“Curse the Seven Widows,” Thrace exclaims. “Can’t be satisfied can you, always stirring the cursed pot!”

“We have to move,” I say.

“We need to get to the spaceport. This is our one chance, we can’t let it slip away,” Rosalind says. “Put me down Visidion.”

“I’ve got you,” I say.

“Yes, you do, but you can’t fight with me in your arms like some kind of damn invalid,” she retorts. “Now put me down.”

Unable to argue with her logic, I set her on her feet, but keep an arm around her until I’m sure she can stand on her own.

“There’s no way we can make it to the spaceport,” Thrace says. “This entire place is going to be a war zone.”

“When you have no options, you do what you have to do,” Rosalind says grimly.

“Curse the Widows,” Thrace mutters, nodding.

“Curse whoever you like, but move your ass,” Rosalind says. “Do you know the way?”

“Yes,” Thrace answers. “Grab gear, this is going to be messy.”

We force our way through the other gladiators choking the tunnel and make it to our prep room where everyone grabs weapons. Yelling and the sounds of fighting drift in.

“This is it,” I say. “Rosalind and I are getting off this planet. If you want to come with us, we’re glad to have you. We’ll make you a home on Tajss with us. If you want something else or you want to stay, we wish you the best. You have to decide, now.”

They exchange looks with each other. Cenar shrugs.

“I’m not staying here,” K’sara says.

“Ha! Stay not,” Mesto adds.

All of us turn and look at Todd.

“What?” he asks.

“Are you in?” I ask.

“How could I pass up seeing the next stupid thing you do?” he asks, shrugging.

“Thrace?” I ask.

“You’ve shoved my entire life into a cursed pot filled with dung and pissed in by all Seven Widows, what am I supposed to stay here for?”

“Colorful,” I say.

“Stow it, scrub,” he says. “There’s plenty more to go.”

Nodding, I raise my swords and pace to the door out of our area. Sounds of struggle come through the thin wood, arguing and cries of pain. When I kick the door open, the pit is in chaos. Gladiators are fighting each other, beating one another with no rhyme or reason. Even teams are tearing each other apart.

Sticking to the wall, I lead our team past the worst of the fighting, making the exit with a minimum of conflict. Thrace steps past me and takes the lead. Following him out, we emerge into the dirty, choked streets of Krik. Makeshift stalls of rickety wood line the street. A mob is raging through, looting, overturning the stalls, destroying everything in their path.

“Damn,” Rosalind exhales.

“Roofs,” Thrace barks, pointing as he runs for the building across the street.

Following, Rosalind stumbles halfway across the street. I hook an arm under hers and lift her up, sweeping her off her feet. Someone at the head of the crowd points and screams something unintelligible. It galvanizes the mob and they scream, racing towards us in a mass.

Todd is struggling to get his bulk up the side of the stall when I get there. K’sara is reaching down from the roof of the building, trying to help Todd. The mob is coming fast.

“Sorry, Todd,” I say, placing my hand on his ass, bending my knees, and thrusting up.

Todd flops up onto the roof of the stall. It creaks and buckles, but holds as he stands up and climbs on to the roof. Something hits me in the head. Pain explodes, and the red rage of bijass leaps forward. Roaring in anger, I toss Rosalind up onto the roof and turn to face the crowd. Those in front stop, leaning back in fright. Spreading my wings and arms wide I roar again, and this time I push air from deep in my throat, releasing firein their faces. The mob entangles with itself as those in front turn and race back into the ones pushing them forward.

Pushing the bijass down, I leap onto the stall then onto the roof with the others.

“Impressive trick,” Thrace says.

“Right,” I agree. “Which way?”

Thrace runs and we follow, leaping from roof to roof, moving deeper into the city. Rosalind stumbles as we reach the third roof. Taking her in my arms, I run for the ledge.

“Visidion, you—” she says, cutting off as I leap, spreading my wings, swinging my tail to keep us upright as we glide between the buildings.

Landing with a crunch on the stone and gravel roof of the next building, I bend my knees to absorb the impact.

“I can do anything… for you.”

She smiles. My chest expands, swelling, and a lightness spreads.

“Come on, you two!” Thrace yells.

“Ha! No love time! Run time!” Mesto adds.

Rosalind pushes to be let down, but there’s no time. Tightening my grip around her, pressing her close to my chest, I run and leap, run and leap again. The distance between the buildings is getting wider as we head away from the heart of the city. When we slide to a stop, everyone, even Thrace, is panting. The streets are mostly empty now. The chaos hasn’t reached this far out yet. Ahead is the spaceport. Gleaming ships thrust into the sky over the low stone buildings. We’re almost there.

“Drop down,” Thrace orders.

Everyone climbs over the side, I spread my wings and drift down with Rosalind in my arms. We walk down the street as if we have every right to be there. The few people out take note of our weapons and give us a wide berth. The street widens, emptying out, then we turn the corner.

“On the ground!”

The voice booms, echoing off the nearby stone structures. A contingent of armored guards, four kneeling with four behind them, guns cocked and loaded, block our path forward. They’re fifty feet ahead, too far to close the distance before they drop all of us.

My stomach sinks and despair threatens to swallow me. My eyes are darting around to find an escape.

“We can dodge back,” Rosalind whispers. “Use the buildings for cover.”

“We’re going to die either way, might as well go out fighting,” Thrace says.

“NOW!” one of the guards yells, and their guns whine as they pull the triggers partway, charging up.

Without speaking we move as a unit, splitting in either direction and dodging behind the buildings. When I turn my back to protect Rosalind, the first shots fire, sizzling through the air. My muscles tense, preparing to take the hit. It crackles over my right shoulder as I leap to the side and press myself flat against the building. I peek around the corner to see their position and jerk back just in time to avoid another shot that slams into the wall, sparking dust and crumbling stone.

“Other side!” Thrace yells from across the street.

He’s pointing down the street in the other direction. I risk one more quick glance. Another contingent of guards is set up in the same formation there. We’re pinned down with no way to reach our destination.

“We can’t lose now,” Rosalind exhales.

Tremors wrack her and she groans in pain. Pulling her tighter to me, I forge my resolve and temper it with fire. I will not fail. I set her on her feet and cup her face between my hands. She gazes into my eyes.

“You are my treasure,” I say.

“Don’t do something stupid,” she says, trembling.

Kissing her soft, sweet lips, I smile. “Never,” I say, whirling away before she can stop me.

When I step into the middle of the crossroads, the guards shift their attention to me. Raising my hands over my head I walk towards the spaceport.

“Down!” comes the order again.

The air feels electric, dancing across my scales. The guns whine as they charge and any moment now they’ll fire. A little closer—it’s all I need to be. Eight guards in front, eight behind me. One step, then another, moving slowly, I keep them confused.

“What in the Seven Widows’ heart is that fool doing?” Thrace exclaims.

Giving us a chance, I think, but I don’t say that out loud.

The guards focus on me which is exactly what I want. I don’t have a plan, not a real one. I’m buying time. Time for something to break our way, anything.

“GET DOWN NOW!” the lead guard screams, his voice cracking.

“Excuse me? I don’t understand,” I say, smiling broadly, hands clasped behind my head.

A few more steps. I’m almost close enough. The ones kneeling in the front row glance at each other, their guns wavering. The back row shifts from foot to foot. Another step, one more, closer. Tensing the muscles in my legs, preparing, one more step.

The air crackles loudly as one guard pulls the trigger. Blue-white lightning forms at the end of the gun, a crackling ball of pain, exploding from the barrel coming for me. I leap, wings spreading, hoping to reach them before I’m hit. The only play I have. The air comes alive as all the guards fire, making the air electric. Multiple balls move towards me in slow motion. This is going to hurt.

A shadow crosses over me. The guards look up, as do I. Wide wings block the sun. My outer lenses snap shut, clearing my vision, and I see a Zmaj floating down from a nearby roof.

Arcan?

It has to be, there is no other Zmaj here, is there?

He lands as the first bolt hits me. My body jerks and spasms as electricity drives through my nervous system, usurping control of my muscles, spinning me in the air.

Arcan raises his right hand, which holds a copper ball. His hand clenches and a pulsing wave explodes out of the ball. A shock wave moves out in a concentric circle with Arcan at its center. The guards are bowled over by the force, but what’s more, the incoming bolts of electricity fizzle and disappear before hitting me.

I hit the dirt with bruising force. I skid to a stop, leap to my feet and turn a circle ready for an attack. The guards are in a heap, working to untangle themselves. One of them jumps up and brings his gun to bear, pulling the trigger without hesitation.

I brace for the pain but nothing happens. It doesn’t fire. The guard looks down at his gun and then up at me, eyes wide with fear. Grinning, I rush, grabbing him by the waist and lifting him over my head. Spinning him around once to get a better grip I throw him into a nearby wall. He slams into it, a loud clang denting his armor with the force, then he slumps to the ground lying still. The remaining guards scramble backwards, trying to put distance between me and them.

“Enough!” Arcan yells, cutting through the clattering noise of their retreat.

Everyone stops and turns. Arcan stands tall in the middle of the street, copper ball in his fist at his side.

“Sir, they’re fugitives,” a guard behind me says, the same one who was ordering us down.

“No, they’re not here,” Arcan says.

“Sir—”

Arcan moves in a rush, passing by me and grabbing the speaker, lifting him up in one hand and shaking him.

“Do you see them?” he hisses.

“N-n-no,” the guard stutters.

“Good,” Arcan says.

“The king wants—” one of the men from behind me says.

“The king is dead,” Arcan cuts him off. “I’m in control now.”

Rosalind steps into view as does Thrace and the others. Rosalind is frowning. We’ve been played, yes, used even, but if we get what we want, does it matter?

“Yes sir,” the speaker says.

The guards slam their closed, gauntleted fists over their hearts, bowing their heads to Arcan.

“These people were not here. You did not find them,” he says. “Do you all understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” the guards bark in unison.

“Good, now order needs to be restored. Go, stop the rioters. Use whatever force is necessary,” Arcan orders.

The guards form into a single unit and march off, armor rattling as they move. I go to Rosalind and hook my arm under hers, taking her weight. Small tremors wrack her body, but she’s trying to hide them. Arcan watches the guards go before turning his attention to us.

“What does this mean?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

“You’re free to go,” he says. “There’s an unguarded ship waiting for you in bay fifty-two. The guards and crew have been distracted by the riots.”

“Why are you helping us?” Rosalind asks.

Something passes over his face, regret? Sadness? A sympathetic ache pulses in my chest. His lips part as if he’s going to speak then snap shut and he shakes his head.

“Isn’t it enough I have?” he says.

“Will you replace the King?” Thrace asks.

“It won’t be that easy,” Arcan says. “We’ll see.”

“Come with us,” I say without thinking about it. “Come home.”

The pain is clear on his face. Something in his eyes alights. Say yes, come home, Arcan—the plea in my head is so strong, it’s a wonder he can’t hear it.

“Yes, come with us,” Rosalind says. “We need you.”

His eyes shift from her to me. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, shoulders slumping. “I have to stay.”

“Why?” Rosalind asks, pushing off of me. She moves close to him, staring up into his eyes, pleading. “What is there here for you?”

My chest burns as my stomach hardens. I recognize my irrational jealousy, but can do nothing to stop it. Clenching my jaw tight, instinctively I lean towards Arcan as the anger flashes white hot.

“Nothing,” he whispers.

“Then come,” Rosalind implores.

Hands balling into fists, my bijass rises, forcing me into a struggle for control. She places a hand on his chest, his hand covers her. I’m breathing in ragged gasps, struggling on the edge.

“I can’t,” he says.

“Why?” she asks. “Tell us.”

Tremors run through my muscles, I’m fighting myself so hard to not attack.

“Tajss must remain forgotten. Even the rumors of its survival must be destroyed,” he says. “That is all I can give to it. I couldn’t stop the Devastation but I can at least try to save it now.”

Rosalind purses her lips and nods, taking her hand off his chest. The bijass retreats a little, easing my struggle for control as the burning in my chest subsides. It becomes even less as she steps away from him.

“I’ll help you,” Thrace says, stepping forward.

Arcan tilts his head, staring at the trainer.

“Are you sure? Freedom awaits you,” he says.

“I’ve done my job with these scrubs,” Thrace says, looking at each of us. “I remember the Galactic War. These young fools, they don’t have a clue what will happen if epis flows. If that can be stopped, I’m going to do it.”

How old is he? I wonder.

“It won’t be easy,” Arcan says.

“Nothing ever is,” Thrace answers. “Don’t try to argue me out of it. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Agreed,” Arcan says, turning his attention to me. “Visidion, I knew your father, before. Return to our home and prepare. If we fail here, they will be coming.”

A cold ball of ice settles into my stomach. Arcan extends his arm to me. I grasp his wrist and he returns it. I increase the pressure until his eyes tighten.

“We’ll be ready,” I say and he nods.

Shaking our arms up and down once, then twice, and we break.

“How did you stop their guns?” Rosalind asks.

“This?” he asks, lifting the ball in his hand. “It drains their batteries, neutralizing them until they recharge.”

Rosalind nods thoughtfully. “What’s its range?”

“Few meters,” he says.

I see thoughts racing behind her eyes and it hits me what she’s thinking. Gershom.

“Have an extra one?” she asks.

Arcan looks at the ball in his hand then up to Rosalind. Silently, he holds it out to her. She takes it, hefting it in her hand, then nods.

“Thank you,” Rosalind says.

Putting an arm around her protectively I pull her tight against me. Arcan nods, turns and walks away. Thrace falls into step with him. We stand and watch them go until they turn a corner out of sight.

“Ha! Unexpected that was,” Mesto says, breaking the solemn silence.

“Well,” K’sara says.

“I’m hungry. Let’s go,” Todd throws in.

Hope lightening my steps, we head into the spaceport towards the dock that Arcan gave us.