The Last Bat-tle
Florian willingly went with Thorin while Riona was escorted back toward the arena.
"I'll keep an eye on him," Thorin offered, puffing out his chest like he had been waiting for this chance.
Riona fought the urge to unleash her trademark sarcasm. After all, dealing with a nosy werewolf was a walk in the moonlit park compared to getting involved with a cunning vampire who'd happily trip her up just to see her stumble.
"I'll be back, Flo. Don't fret, I've got this," Riona crouched down, trying to appear reassuring. She ruffled his hair as she spoke.
With a confident smile on her face, Riona followed the knight back to the arena. She stole worried glances over her shoulder every few steps.
But every time she looked back, Flo's expression seemed to scream, 'Save yourself!' So, she squared her shoulders and forged ahead, pretending she could solve the puzzle already.
With each step she took, Riona thought through the dramatic plot twist written and directed by someone with a flair for theatrical.
Alright. Let's recap. Lisbeth messed with my quest for victory because she's still salty about her daddy issues. Here came Number One, that pup. But I sprinkled garlic powder on her wound when I won even with that high level of sabotaging.
"It's not even the first time I defeated her, why the grudge? Talk about desperate measures. If she keeps this up, she'll be writing her own tragic villain story."
As Riona rambled on to herself, the Nightwatch paused. He leaned in as if expecting a royal decree. "Pardon? I didn't quite catch that, My Lady."
"Oh, nothing. Just having a compelling conversation with myself." Riona waved him off nonchalantly.
As they resumed their journey, Riona's ears perked up at the sound of Sir Kai's voice.
"General, not seriously considering this ludicrous request to shove in a new test out of the blue," Sir Karl began.
You would think he was a werewolf with that low growl if you didn't know better. Although his tone was measured and respectful, it was shimmered with righteous indignation.
"The Nightwarden Trials are sacred. It is a legacy forged through centuries of dedication and sacrifice. Allowing abrupt interference without so much of a discussion undermines not only our traditions but the very foundation upon which our order rests."
There was a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of the General's exasperated sigh.
"I get where you're coming from, Sir Kai. Believe me, I do. But there are… some things that demand a delicate touch."
A delicate touch? More like a delirious, devilish princess. What on earth had Lisbeth promised the General to make him fold? Gold? Power? A lifetime supply of garlic-free blood?
Riona scoffed as she involuntarily stood there, listening on.
She couldn't believe that Sir Dusan, the very same man who'd trained her, who'd seen firsthand Lisbeth's venomous fangs, now danced to her tune.
"Respectfully, General, the Nightwarden pledge their allegiance not to the crown, but to the Kingdom of Eira. Have we forgotten our oath in favor of bending to the whims of royalty?"
"That's quite enough. A decision has been reached, and it stands firm. Ensure it's executed as instructed," Sir Dusan declared with a sense of finality, before storming out of the tent.
His grand exit came to an abrupt stop when his eyes locked with Riona's deliberate and defiant stare. She stood there with unyielding determination.
A smile was plastered on her face as if saying 'Remember me? The one you betrayed?'.
"Greetings, Sir Dusan. Fancy meeting you here," she said. Her tone was dripping with sweetness designed to poke at his lingering guilt, assuming there were any left.
"Ah, yes, well... uh, see you later, Riona," Sir Dusan mumbled, practically vanishing into thin air like he was transforming into a bat–but he was not.
As Sir Kai trudged out behind his superior, his broad shoulders slumped like they were carrying the weight of the entire kingdom on their weary bones.
He glanced up to meet Riona's gaze, only to quickly avert his eyes back to the ground, sighing like a deflating balloon.
***
As the surviving participants of the Nightwarden Trials gathered in the main arena, the absence of Number One was particularly felt.
She was only unconscious, and Riona didn't hit any of Number One's vital organs. But she was still nowhere to be seen.
If that didn't scream foul play, then surely it whispered it loudly enough for Sir Kai, who was deafened by his own sorrow of not being able to protect the Nightwarden's honor or whatever.
He wore enough shadows on his face to rival a haunted mansion. Alright, Riona tried to understand since he was forced to carry out orders. But still…
His physique may have been as solid as a fortress wall, but his mental state seemed to be crumbling faster than a poorly constructed sandcastle.
Seriously, who mopes around like that when the whole kingdom's watching?
The weight of Sir Kai's gloom pressed down on her already hopeless spirit.
Meanwhile, Lisbeth stood regally by the balcony railing of the tent's second floor, flaunting her presumptuous smile.
Anyone who didn't see it would think they had a good relationship. Some might even think that there was something romantic between the two.
But Riona knew full well what that smile meant. That devilish princess thought she had won–and perhaps she was right because no matter how hard Riona searched for a way out, there was simply none.
Riona was not only born fangless, but she was also unable to transform into a bat.
Normally vampires would be born with fangs or they would grow them out in the first year, and their first transformation into a bat would be at the age of fifteen, at the latest.
If vampire development milestones were a race, Riona would be trailing behind, delayed by a whopping three years. Talk about being fashionably late to the undead party.
"The final test will last for one hour, during which we shall measure the transformation time. Those who transform the earliest will receive higher scores, which shall be added to their cumulative scores from previous trials."
So it begins. My doomsday countdown.