The air shifted.
A tension sharper than ice, heavier than steel, washed over the entire underground arena like an invisible hand gripping every throat in the chamber.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Laughter faltered and choked in throats. Even the jeering females, who had been stripping and appraising the captured males, froze in place as if the very heat of their blood had gone cold.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space. They came from the north entrance, where two towering bone gates stood wide open, their edges etched with runes so old they seemed to pulse with an inner cold light. The blue torchlight flickered, dimming for a breath, and then returning brighter as she entered.
Raika turned immediately, standing taller as the cold gaze of the figure swept over the masses. Veyn followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing.
Chieftain Zarvana.
The Matriarch of the Northern Tribes. The Supreme Alpha of the Krepsunas of this region. And the one who had kept the northern side of the Fallen Bridge under her clawed rule for over three centuries.
She was a being of terrifying beauty. Not the soft beauty of a mother or a gentle lover, but the lethal, predatory allure of a creature that had survived everything—wars, famine, the Ice Rain, and the endless terrors that came with living in the shadow of the Fallen Bridge.
Zarvana's skin was the deep, polished onyx hue of old Krepsuna bloodlines, veins of faint silver luminescence running beneath her skin like rivers of moonlight.
Her ears were long and pointed, pierced with rings of bone and metal. Her eyes literally glowed in a deep, icy azure that seemed to burn with a cold fire, ringed by black sclera.
Her lips, pale silver, curled into a faint, imperious smile that hinted at absolute control. She was beautiful and no one could deny that.
And she was surrounded by men. Eight of them. All young. All beautiful in the cruel way the Krepsunas measured beauty.
They were hers. Not guards. Not warriors. But consorts. Each of them bore her mark, an ancient rune seared into the skin above their collarbones, just above the heart.
They moved in perfect formation, four on each side, their hands resting on the hilts of daggers or folded across their chests. Some of them glanced at the crowd with cold disinterest, but others—the youngest—watched with a distant, haunted look. Like prey that had long since accepted the predator's bite.
Zarvana stopped at the raised dais. She wore no heavy furs, no armor. Only a cloak of midnight blue fur draped across her shoulders, secured by a brooch made of pure obsidian carved into the shape of a fang.
Beneath that, a tunic of glistening black scales wrapped around her, the edges lined with blood-red stitching. Her claws clicked once against the stone platform as she turned slowly, facing the sea of Krepsuna females before her.
Raika's jaw flexed. Veyn stiffened beside her, his gaze darkening at the sight.
Then Zarvana spoke.
"Krepsuna daughters of the North. Sisters of the Ice and Blood. Warriors of a dying race."
Her words echoed, amplified by ancient runes woven into the structure of the cavern. Even those standing furthest away could hear her perfectly.
"Today, we gather as we have for three centuries, as our ancestors before us, and the ancients before them. The Mate Choosing Ritual begins anew."
A wave of energy coursed through the air at her words. The blue flames along the walls flared, casting dancing shadows that made the etched runes along the stone blaze with cold light.
"Two hundred and thirty-six years since the Ice Rain first fell. Two hundred and thirty-six years since the Fallen Bridge cursed our lands. We are survivors." Her voice deepened with pride. "But we are not enough."
A murmur rose in the crowd. Zarvana continued, lifting her hand slightly.
"The male births have waned. The curse steals from us the sons that should be born. It cripples the warriors who should defend our lands. But the gods have given us another way."
Her clawed hand gestured gracefully to the cages below, where the males were shackled and waiting.
"Our males are few. But they are strong. They are precious. They are the lifeblood of our people's future. We must claim them. Protect them. Breed them."
She smiled, faint and cruel.
"Or we will perish."
Raika's teeth clenched hard enough to make her jaw ache. Veyn's hand tightened into a fist.
"By rite of combat, the strongest among you shall take your pick. By blood spilled, by bones broken, you shall claim what is yours."
She gestured to her own reverse harem with a lazy wave.
"Like I have," her smile widened. "Eight consorts for the Matriarch. And if I could take more, I would. Who among you will be strong enough to deserve the same?"
A ripple of raw, primal excitement ran through the gathered females. Roars, cheers and the clattering of weapons striking shields thundered through the arena. It was like a frenzy building, a fever pitch of hunger and greed and pride.
"The Ritual begins now. You will fight. You will kill if you must. And by day's end, you will have your mates. Or, you will leave here broken and empty-handed."
She turned and strode toward the edge of the dais. The eight males followed, moving in eerie unison behind her like shadows that obeyed her every thought.
And then she stopped, her gaze flicking briefly toward Raika.
Their eyes locked.
"Raika," Zarvana said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper. "Still defending your childhood sweetheart?"
A faint chuckle slipped from her lips, almost kind, almost gentle, but it was neither.
"Six years now. How much longer before you claim him properly? Or will you wait until another takes him from under your nose?"
Raika's expression didn't change. But her fingers flexed on her club. Veyn stood taller beside her, his chin up, his eyes defiant.
"I'll protect him," Raika said coolly. "Until he chooses me. Or someone stronger."
Her gaze flicked to Zarvana's consorts. "I don't steal mates like you."
Zarvana's smile thinned. "We'll see."
And then the Matriarch turned, descending from the dais with her entourage in tow, disappearing into the private upper balconies reserved for the ruling class.
Raika exhaled slowly.
"Come on," she muttered. "We need to register."
Veyn nodded, but his pulse still pounded like a war drum in his ears.
The Ritual had begun.
And today, everything could change.
°°°°°°
The registration area lay beyond the main concourse, cut into the roots of the underground venue like a deep scar.
It was quieter here, but only in sound. Crystalline light vines coiled along the ceiling like veins of frozen lightning, casting the space in a ghostly azure glow that turned flesh pale and eyes to shards of ice.
Raika and Veyn approached without hurry, their boots crunching against the gravel-like frost beneath their feet. They'd been here six times before. They knew what came next. But this year… things felt different.
At the far end of the long froststone table sat the registrar, his ink-dark skin gleaming faintly under the cold glow of the light vines.
He was broad-shouldered but not bulky, his muscles defined with an economy of movement that made Veyn pause, watching how his hands moved with precision as he carved sigils into the ivory name tablets.
His hair was shaved down to the scalp on the sides, the crest in the middle braided back in knots that spoke of lineage and rank. A thick scar ran across his throat but clearly an old wound. And he wore no collar, no chains of ownership.
Raika's eyes narrowed in recognition.
"Kezren," she muttered under her breath. "Seyna's husband."
Kezren was a quiet legend. A man who had survived the Curse of the Fallen Bridge and the Ice Rain without losing his sanity or his fertility, a rare trait among Krepsuna males. He was one of the three surviving members of Clan Spine.
Clan Spine was Raika's clan. Kezren was actually a distant relative of hers.
And now, at the registration table, he sat unchained and unbroken, the living proof that even a claimed man could stand tall when matched with a female strong enough to earn him.
But not everyone respected that.
A cluster of women loitered nearby. Five of them, clustered in tight formation, whispering sharp words behind the crook of their elbows.
They weren't subtle about the way they watched Kezren's hands, or the way their gazes lingered on the thickness of his neck and the broad spread of his shoulders.
One of them licked her lips like she was imagining how he'd taste.
Raika's upper lip curled.
"They're testing boundaries," she said. "And waiting to see if she's watching."
She was.
Seyna moved like the edge of a scythe, cutting through the crowd without ever breaking stride. She was taller than any of them, her black battle coat flaring out behind her like wings as she closed in.
The first woman didn't notice until it was too late. Seyna's hand shot out like a thunderbolt and slammed into the woman's collarbone, driving her down to her knees with a single brutal motion. The snap of bone echoed like a hammer strike.
"He's mine," Seyna said, her voice low and cold as glacier ice. "Step again and you will lose more than pride."
The others backed off immediately, muttering apologies that Seyna ignored completely as she stepped past them.
She planted herself at Kezren's side like a fortress wall, one claw-tipped hand resting on his shoulder. Her thumb traced the mate-bond mark etched into the skin of his neck, which was a quiet warning to all who looked.
Kezren glanced up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Thought you'd wait at the ring."
"I thought I'd have to gut someone," she replied. "Don't make me regret putting on armor."
He snorted softly and returned to his work.
Raika gave Seyna a nod as she and Veyn approached the table.
"You've got your hands full," Raika commented, keeping her tone light but respectful.
Seyna's eyes flicked to her.
"I can multitask," her gaze lingered a little longer on Veyn, who stood calm and quiet, hands relaxed at his sides. "You've grown, boy."
Raika smirked. "I told you that already."
"And I told you he'd get chosen if you slack."
Veyn didn't flinch. "I'm not interested in getting chosen."
"No one ever is," Seyna said. "Until they are."
Kezren finished carving their names onto the plates—Raika of Frostveil, Clan Spine. Veyn of Frostveil, Clan Spine. His movements were smooth and efficient, but there was strength behind every line.
"You're early," he commented without looking up.
Raika shrugged. "Better than late."
.
"You're smart. Be smarter," Kezren said, sliding the plates across the table to a waiting handler. "This year's different."
Veyn's brow furrowed. "How different?"
Seyna answered before Kezren could. "More violent," she said.
"Males are being stolen. Entire houses emptied out before they could scream. Southern tribes are desperate. If it wasn't for me they would have crossed the boundaries."
Raika set her jaw. "Let them try."
"I'm telling you not to go all out. If you fight like you have something to protect, they'll know. They'll smell it on you. You fight like you don't care if Veyn gets taken? They'll back off. They won't risk bleeding for what they can't keep."
Raika didn't like the idea of holding back. She never held back. But Seyna wasn't some upstart warrior or blood-hungry chieftain. She was the Commander of the Chieftain.
Raika nodded. "I hear you."
Kezren gave a quiet grunt of approval and pressed the registration seals into the plates, finalizing their entry. The wax sigils glowed faintly before fading to a dull red.
"You're in," he said. "May your blades stay sharp."
Raika snorted. "They always are."
Veyn inclined his head. "Thank you."
As they turned to go, Seyna called after them.
"Raika."
She glanced back.
"Don't get killed," Seyna said, almost casually.
"I'll try."