The Time Tournament (Order of the Dragon #1)

CHAPTER 39

Elena

February 1431

“ L

ords and ladies, esteemed guests, today the second round of our tournament will commence,” the Master of Lists announced. “Competing in the final round will be Prince Killian Valkorian, Princess Tarra Valkorian, and their riders from the House of the Crimson Dragon, against Prince Cyprian Wulkanov, Lord Atlas Wulkanov, and their riders from the House of the Cerulean Dragon.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause until the Master of Lists raised his hand. “Today’ s game will double its opponents, so the rules will change slightly. If one rider falls from their dragon, the house is allowed a secondary to balance the game. The secondary is not considered an official player, but only an aid. Once the second official rider falls, the game is over, and the opposing team will be declared the winner. Let the dragon games begin!”

Killian and Laszlo took flight first, and we followed soon after. The Ceruleans took their time ascending as if to show they weren’t intimidated. But I sure as hell was intimidated by them. My teeth chattered, not just from the freezing cold, but from fear. The helmet felt suffocating, only making things worse. I clammed up, keeping a tight grip on Tarra’s crest reins. The crowd clamored and the dragons puffed hot air through their nostrils, but all I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest. Everyone felt excited—except me. I felt bile rising in my throat, and my breath caught somewhere in my lungs. How could I fight when a panic attack threatened to take over at any moment?

“Elena,” I heard a distant voice. “Elena, look at me.” I turned and saw Laszlo without his helmet.

“I can’t breathe, Laszlo,” I said, tears in my eyes.

The Ceruleans were already airborne.

“You know how to do this. You’ve done it countless times before,” Laszlo reassured me. “You can do it one more time today.”

“You’re right,” I said, trying to steady myself.

“Of course, I am. Focus on what you can do to defend yourself, then attack with whatever you have at your disposal. That’s it. There’s nothing to it.” He pulled his coif and helmet over the head.

Easy for him to say when a cloud could literally catch his fall.

The vast arena suddenly felt cramped with four full-grown dragons and their riders hovering above. Though we hovered at the same height, no one dared to attack first—until Killian. He unleashed a wave of fire at Cyprian Wulkanov’s rider. The rider didn’t hesitate and pulled out an hourglass. Was he planning to send me into the time void? I wouldn’t mind—a thousand times better than this.

He opened the hourglass and poured the sand out, the specks dancing above his fingers like tiny popcorn. The Cerulean rider wasn’t just the true rock-and-roller around—he was also the master of dunes. How thrilling. In the blink of an eye, the sand morphed into a storm, whipping toward me. I didn’t react in time, and the sand invaded everywhere—my eyes, mouth, and nose. Sand crunched between my teeth. A desert in winter was a first for me. Focus, Elena, focus. I clashed my cuffs together, activating my sound shield. Then, I sent the buzdugan flying straight at my opponent. It hit him in the shoulder. Though it didn’t make him fall—I wish it had—the crowd almost lost it at the sight of my weapon. Danko, you’re a lifesaver.

Laszlo signaled me to move closer to the older Cerulean and his rider. I saw the earth-wielder clutching the hourglass in his hands and figured out what my next move should be. I spun my morningstar straight into the glass and shattered it. Laszlo turned Killian’s crest reins to face the younger rider. Cyprian Wulkanov’s rider didn’t waste any time and conjured another desert on his palm. Laszlo summoned Windy, who transformed from a pocket tornado into a raging beast of winds. I covered my head with the sound shield as the tornado and the sandstorm collided and sped toward us. Laszlo outstretched both hands and swooshed the sandy tornado back at the young Cerulean’s rider.

As Cyprian’s rider battled the winds, I hurled my morningstar, knocking him off his dragon. Killian was right—together, we were unstoppable.

We moved to surround Atlas Wulkanov before his son could bring in a secondary. But before we could split, the older Cerulean’s rider turned ferocious, using every weapon at his disposal. Prismwater arrows rained down. The remaining sand transformed into sharp rocks, hurtling at us. We barely escaped unscathed. The young Cerulean dragon returned with a secondary rider, who signaled something to his teammate. The dragon clutched the dead rider’s body in his talons. Immediately after, both dragons breathed blue fire from two directions, filling the air with the smell of burnt flesh and fear. I sensed something and ducked just in time as a large object flew over my head. The body of the dead rider? Were they really using charred bodies as weapons? I guess this was one way to win the game.

Killian didn’t appreciate the intense onslaught and unleashed a stream of red fire of his own. Tarra followed suit. Soon, the entire arena was shrouded in a fog of smoke and sand. Lord Wulkanov’s rider used this as a distraction and launched another stone blade at me, piercing my thigh.

An involuntary cry escaped my lips. My team froze. Laszlo’s eyes burned with rage.

“No, Laszlo. Don’t rush in,” I yelled.

But he didn’t listen, and for good reason. The secondary rider pulled out another hidden hourglass, using it to create dozens of sand blades aimed directly at me. He quickly realized I was the weakest link.

A blade struck my cuff, shattering my sound shield. I threw the morningstar, but it went way off target. Luckily, it swung back into my open hand. At least something went according to plan. We only needed to defeat one more rider, but we were on the brink of losing.

The fire Tarra breathed didn’t stop the blades. As they pierced through the fog, I braced myself for death.

But Laszlo emerged through the fog, using Killian’s body as a shield. The blades bounced off him like toothpicks, but one found its mark, hitting Laszlo in the side.

“Laszlo, you’re hit. I’m the weakest link. You need to distance yourself from me.”

“Never. We can defeat them together.”

The Ceruleans, now focused, merged their fire and sand, attacking us with relentless force. We couldn’t see anything.

“Stop breathing fire,” I yelled.

“Duck!” Laszlo shouted, catching another blade, this time in his shoulder.

“You need to stop,” I cried, panic rising in my voice .

“My sword won’t help here. Throw the morningstar,” he ordered.

I did as he said, but it only hit the rider’s shoulder again. He wasn’t even close to falling off.

“We need to get closer,” Laszlo said, bleeding profusely.

“No, that’s a bad idea.”

“Let’s get them, Rider,” he said, determination blazing in his eyes as he flew ahead.

“No, Laszlo. You’re already injured. What are you doing? Killian, stop!”

I followed them, guiding myself by Killian’s tail.

An arrow whizzed past from the back, narrowly missing me. When I turned, I saw another, too close and too low to dodge. This was it. My time to die.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the end. Suddenly, a powerful gust altered the arrow’s path. What just happened?

I looked to my left. Laszlo was guiding the winds toward the elder Cerulean’s rider. The winds were so strong, I couldn’t even close my eyes. Through the gusts of wind, the Cerulean rider still fought to get to me. Focused on shielding me, Laszlo didn’t notice the secondary rider sneaking up behind him.

“Laszlo, behind you!” I screamed through the gusts of wind.

But it was too late. He took a brutal hit to the back.

“Killian, he’s hit again! Distance yourself!”

But Laszlo steered Killian the opposite way. What the hell was he doing? “Laszlo, Killian, stop!” Using the winds around him, Laszlo flew straight toward Atlas Wulkanov’s rider. I fought to turn, but the winds pinned me in place. Even the buzdugan was impossible to lift. Meanwhile, the Cerulean rider used the larger body of Atlas Wulkanov to push through the winds.

The Cerulean rider was inches away from me when Laszlo lunged at him, pushing him off the dragon. But as he tried to pull away, the earth-wielder grabbed him, dragging Laszlo down with him.

“NO!” I screamed. “No, Tarra, save him! Please, save him!” Tarra scurried to lower herself, but by the time we broke through the smoke, both Laszlo and the earth-wielder lay lifeless on the ground.

“The House of the Crimson Dragon wins,” the game marshal announced.

But his words didn’t register. I was only focused on finding life in Laszlo’s eyes. His eyes stayed shut until they fluttered open, just a faint glimmer of life.

“Tarra, he’s alive,” I cried. “Land. Land now.”

As soon as Tarra touched the ground, I jumped off and sprinted to Laszlo’s side. I lifted his head gently, his gaze meeting mine with a serene calmness.

“You’ll be okay. Rosalynd will heal you. Don’t worry,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He coughed up blood, his breath labored.

“We won. You’re the best rider out there, Laszlo. The glory is yours. Just one more game, and they’ll remember us by name. ”

“You’re such a good friend, El. Please, tell Mother I love her,” he whispered, his voice weakening.

“No, no, don’t say that. You’ll tell her yourself. We’ll walk together and surprise her with—” My words died in my throat as his blood pooled around him. The warmth of his blood melted the snow, forming a trail of utter loss.

“You can’t die, Laszlo. You just can’t. I won’t let you. Do you hear me, Laszlo? Do you hear me? Laszlo?”

I slammed open the door where Killian sat, and Rosalynd catered to his wounds.

“You let him die!” I screamed, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“He died with honor,” he said, his voice cold as he stood to face me. Rosalynd moved to the side and left the room.

“His death was avoid…able… You could’ve kept your…distance.” The knot in my throat made it hard to speak. My knees buckled, but Tarra caught me before I collapsed on the floor.

“Please stand, El,” Tarra pleaded.

“We did everything we could.” Killian squared his shoulders pridefully, as if Laszlo’s death was something other than a complete loss. “His duty as a rider has been fulfilled. He and his family will be granted the highest of honors. ”

“How can you be so indifferent about it? Wasn’t he your rider…your teammate?” A surge of anger rose within me. I stood on my own two feet and pushed Tarra to the side.

“Rider Taddeus has performed his duty. He was first and foremost a soldier.” He crossed his arms but didn’t budge. I stepped closer, fury encompassing my entire vision.

“His name is Laszlo.”

“El, please,” Tarra pleaded once more.

“Very well. Laszlo has been a formidable soldier,” Killian said.

“That’s it? He was just a soldier to you? Have you no heart?” I inched closer.

“In such cases, it’s best to stay level-headed.” He kept his cool.

But I couldn’t take it anymore. For the times he motivated us to fight for the bigger cause, for the bond we built, for something more than a meaningless tournament.

And now he stood like a cold statue, refusing to acknowledge what we all knew we built together.

I felt defeated. Not only by Laszlo’s death but because of the cruelty Killian bore in his soul.

I turned and looked at Tarra’s worried face. She felt the same way, but she also feared for me. Her worried look convinced me to accept the absurdity of this situation. I dragged my feet to Tarra’s welcoming arms, until I couldn’t. I couldn’t accept this—accept him. Where was the man I fell in love with? The one who showed protectiveness, even small acts of compassion? Somewhere underneath those layers of marble hid a kind man. Except he chose to keep it hidden even when we needed him most. To kneel with us, to mourn, to weep…he refused it all. I couldn’t accept that anymore. His actions were unforgivable. Still, I had to make sure.

“So you don’t feel a sliver of sadness about Laszlo’s death? You don’t…” I stopped, my head hanging between my shoulders. Then it hit me. “You know you’re allowed to feel, Killian? You’re allowed to mourn your losses. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to… care.”

“It was a sacrifice dignified of the House of the Crimson Dragon’s honor. It doesn’t matter how I––”

He stopped mid-sentence as I looked at him, my eyes blazing with anger. I sprinted toward him, prepared to slam my fist into his chest but he caught it. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you feel sad about Laszlo’s death? Or bad? Or something?”

He let go of me. “I know you hold deeper sentiments for him, but personal feelings cannot––”

I snickered. “How oblivious can you be?” I said through gritted teeth, disappointment washing over me. “It was never him,” I whispered.

I slammed both fists into his chest and screamed, “It was never him!” My head fell limp, just like my body, and I slid down, kneeling on the floor. “He was a dear, dear friend. MY friend… My family…” I covered my face and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Tarra rushed to gather the broken shell that was once her friend. “El, come on. We have a fight tomorrow. We can’t lose hope now,” Tarra urged. She half-dragged me to the door until I stopped her. I glared at Killian, who remained unchanged.

“You said I would never understand what it felt like when someone died because of me.” His brows shot up. “Well, Commander, now I do. I hope you’re satisfied.” I turned away, determined to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow to ensure Laszlo’s name is remembered—and to forget Killian ever existed. If the prophecy of my death was to come true, now would be the right time to make it true.

But before I left, he said, “Make sure you focus on the final game, Rider. We have much to lose.”

I wanted to punch his smug face, but Tarra and Soraya wrapped their arms around mine and dragged me out of his chamber. That was it. I gave up on him. “Winning won’t bring your mother back,” I whispered, but his head snapped up. “And it won’t amend your loss.”