Chapter 20: The Cliffside Confrontation

The cliffs of Myrath were jagged things, black teeth gnawing at the sea. Waves crashed far below, the spray climbing up the stone like desperate hands. I had Arkanthos at my belt, his skull bumping against my hip with every step, while Serine kept close behind me, her eyes wide as she stared at the shadows that clung to the rock.

We climbed higher, the air tasting of salt and rot, until from a ridge we finally saw it: light flickering out of a cavern’s mouth, fire spilling across the stone like a beacon. Exactly where those tavern lizards had promised.

“Looks like our friends weren’t lying,” I muttered.

We scrambled across the rocks, the wind pulling at our cloaks. Serine was breathing harder than me—part nerves, part fear—but she didn’t complain once. Brave girl. When we finally reached a ledge above the entrance, I spotted two guards pacing lazily. Big scaly bastards with crooked spears, tails swaying side to side.

“Hold this,” I said, unclipping Arkanthos and handing him to Serine. She clutched him carefully against her stomach, almost protectively.

“Arkanthos,” I whispered. “Keep her safe. Burn the world if you have to.”

The skull’s eyes glowed faintly. “As you command, Mistress. No harm shall touch her while I still breathe—well, metaphorically.”

That was all I needed to hear.

We didn’t bother with finesse. I grabbed two loose stones and hurled them down. Both guards crumpled like sacks of wet grain, one tumbling into the sand.

Arkanthos chuckled softly. “For someone who can’t fry an egg without burning it, you’ve got frightening aim.”

I smirked. “Cooking’s overrated. Hitting ugly lizards with a rock is a more useful hobby.”

Inside, the cavern reeked of sweat, ale, and damp scales. The place wasn’t deep, but wide enough to house a small army. Barrels, crates, stolen sacks—proof of a dozen raids littered the floor. And there they were: about thirty of them, every shape of reptile you could imagine. Some had only slitted eyes and a hint of scales down their necks; others were almost fully beasts, hulking bodies with clawed feet, tails dragging across the ground.

At the center, on a makeshift throne of driftwood and bone, lounged their alpha. A brute with scales like black glass, a curved scimitar resting across his lap and a whip dangling from his clawed hand.

And before him… Cassian.

Chains bolted him against the wall, his torso bare and streaked with blood. Bruises bloomed across his ribs, his face swollen, one eye half-shut.

I froze. My blood ran hot.

No more sneaking.

I stepped out from the shadows, my voice cutting across their laughter like steel. “Hey, lizards. You call that torture? I’ve seen kittens scratch harder.”

Dozens of scaled faces turned toward me. The cavern went silent.

“So,” the leader said, his voice deep and rasping, “another fool stumbles into my den. You stand before Varax, rightful master of these shores and scourge of every ship that dares the Myrath cliffs.” His lips peeled back into something between a smile and a snarl, rows of jagged teeth gleaming. “And you dare to interrupt my entertainment?”

Cassian, half-slumped against the wall, lifted his head at the sound of my voice. His swollen eye blinked, desperate, and his voice cracked as he rasped, “Rissa—Serine—no. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t understand… you shouldn’t have come!”

Even chained, even bleeding, he was trying to protect us. Typical Cassian.

I folded my arms, cocking my head as though I were only mildly inconvenienced. “Oh, thank you for the concern, Cassie. Very sweet. But you look like boiled meat, so forgive me if I don’t take tactical advice from the guy tied to a wall.”

A ripple of cruel laughter spread among the bandits, but Varax’s glare silenced them. He rose from his throne, scimitar scraping against the stone floor. “Your tongue is sharp for someone who just walked willingly into her grave.”

I smirked, stepping further into the firelight. “Funny. People keep telling me that, but somehow it’s always the other guy who ends up buried.”

Varax rose, his tail lashing. “This is no concern of yours, human whore.” His voice was a guttural growl, his eyes cold.

“Oh, but see, you made it my concern the moment you laid a finger on him. That gray-haired traumatized kid you’ve been beating?” I pointed a finger straight at Cassian. “He’s mine. Anyone here who wants to keep their tongue attached to their throat had better step aside.”

“Rissa—” Cassian coughed blood, his voice ragged.

“Cassie, you little puppy.” I snapped interrupting him. “Shut up and let me work.”

The bandits surged, their claws scraping against stone, their eyes glinting with anticipation.

I paused just long enough to let the fury build, feeling it coiling in my chest like a living thing. Cassian, beaten and chained, had been made to suffer—his ribs cracked, his skin bruised. Every strike I had witnessed him take, every cruel laugh that echoed through the cavern, it all fueled a single thought: they would pay, and they would know exactly what it felt like to face someone who could not be broken.

Magic surged at my fingertips as I tapped into the enchantments I had been holding back. I didn’t start with fire or ice, not yet. I channeled raw strength into my body first. Legs like coiled steel, arms like hammers of enchanted iron, reflexes sharpened to a predator’s precision. Every tendon and sinew hummed with power, muscles tuned for maximum speed and impact. I wanted every punch, kick, and throw to be a lesson in pain—a mirror of the cruelty they had inflicted on Cassian.

Arkanthos stirred in Serine’s arms, his skeletal jaw opening as streams of fire erupted, hissing and snapping through the cavern air. Half a dozen lizard-men were instantly charred, their scales smoking, their cries mixing with the scent of burning fish. The others scrambled, panicking, claws scrabbling at each other to escape the onslaught.

I lunged, every strike powered by the magic in my veins. I didn’t aim for elegance; I aimed for retribution. Fists smashed jaws, boots slammed into tails, elbows crushed skulls. The hall echoed with splintering bones and guttural screams.

Serine pressed Arkanthos close to her chest, murmuring prayers as her knuckles went white around the talking skull, but I could see it in her eyes—the same fierce determination that had refused to let fear rule her. She did not waver, even as fire and blood sprayed around her.

“Pathetic!” I yelled, slamming a lizard-man’s head into a barrel. “Is this the proud legacy of your kind? Laughing while you break men’s bodies? You think cruelty makes you strong? I’ll teach you otherwise!”

The bandits fell like pins. I didn’t stop. Every strike, every punch, was fueled by rage and precision. The more they fell, the closer I drew to the center of the cavern, where the black-scaled alpha held court.

Varax leaned on his scimitar, his whip dangling idly. He watched, amused, as his minions fell like wheat before the harvest.

“You think yourself strong, girl,” he hissed, rising to meet me, his clawed feet clicking against stone. “But strength is more than fury.”

I grinned. “Oh, I know, Varax. But sometimes, rage is very educational.”

We clashed. Sparks flew as his blade met my empowered knuckles, twisting and snapping, every movement measured, every attack a deadly dance. I added my magic into the battle—blasts of concussive heat force, raw power that I was letting out of me with every strike that released whirlwinds of hot air—but Varax moved with inhuman speed. He dodged, blocked, countered. The whip lashed close enough to draw blood, and my shoulder screamed as the strike bit deep.

Still, I pressed on. Every blow I landed, every spell I unleashed, was meant to punish him for Cassian, for the laughter at his pain. My body, enhanced by magic, moved faster than I normally could. Strength spells coursed through my arms, legs, and core, letting me throw heavier punches and leap higher than any human should. Reflex enchantments sharpened my senses, letting me anticipate strikes before they came. I wanted him to feel the full force of what we had endured, to understand fear and pain.

Then, when he was starting to feel threatened, began to change.

Muscles bulged, bones cracked, scales rippled and thickened. The alpha I had faced was gone. In his place rose a massive, hulking lizard, taller than the cavern itself, claws sharp as scimitars, jaws wide with primal hunger. The ground trembled beneath each step, the air heavy with the stench of reptilian power.

He lunged, and I dodged, barely, feeling the shockwave of his bulk tear the stone floor beneath me. My heart pounded. Even with magic, brute force alone wasn’t enough. I had to outthink him.

I let him corner me deliberately, baiting him. Each swipe of claws and snap of jaws, I evaded just enough to make him overcommit. I danced backward across the cavern floor, dodging his immense tail, keeping my spells at the ready.

Then it clicked. He had strength, yes, but he lacked imagination. He would not anticipate a strike from above if he thought he had me trapped below. I channeled every ounce of magical energy remaining in my veins, focusing it into my hands, and whispered the incantation I had been holding in reserve—the one designed to turn raw fury into a blinding, unstoppable force.

White-hot flames erupted, not outward but inward, imploding into a compact sphere. I hurled it straight at the massive lizard’s open maw as he lunged. The heat ripped through him, searing the inside of his throat, blinding him with the brilliance of magic he could neither dodge nor deflect.

I pushed with all my strength, shoving him backward. His massive claws clawed at air, then stone, then nothing—he toppled over the edge of the cavern, crashing into the sea below. Waves roared, smashing him repeatedly against jagged rocks until even his monstrous form was nothing more than flotsam, swallowed by the surf.

The cavern was silent. Steam hissed from every stone, the stench of scorched scales hanging in the air. I breathed hard, chest heaving, fingers trembling as magic ebbed from my limbs.

Serine ran to Cassian, carefully unchaining him as he slumped forward, exhausted and bruised. Arkanthos, still steaming in her hands.

Cassian looked at us, pale but alive. His eyes held a mix of relief and sorrow.

I brushed a strand of hair from my face, smirking. I turned, forcing my legs to keep steady, and staggered to Cassian’s side. The chains cracked under my hand, my magic melting the locks. Serine rushed to him, her small hands trembling as she touched his bruises.

Cassian slumped forward, coughing, but his eyes were clear.

He managed a small, wry smile. “I… I never told anyone, not like this. But I should explain… about me, about them…” His voice was weak, but firm.

And as Serine held Arkanthos tight, I listened, ready to hear the story of a boy forced to survive, to train, to become strong enough to face a clan of lizard-men who had once been his people—before power and bloodshed twisted them all.

I crouched in front of him, gripping his chin and forcing him to meet my gaze. “Then explain. Start talking, Cassie. Because we’re not leaving without you, and I’m done watching you bleed.”

And so he did.

The words came halting at first, then spilling like a broken dam. He told us of the isles around Vaelor, of a people who had once been proud—traders, fishermen, warriors. He told us of his father, the rightful leader, murdered by Varax’s hand. How the clan had been twisted into brigands and butchers.

He told us the truth of his blood—half-human, half-lizard, his scales dormant but never gone. He could call upon them, sharpen himself into something more. But he hated it. Hated that the usurper had made him feel like a monster.

“I needed strength,” Cassian said, his voice low. “Enough to end men like Varax forever. Enough that no one can chain me again.”

I put a hand on his shoulder, firm, unyielding. “You’ll get it. But you’re not alone anymore. Understand? Whatever you think you are—human, lizard, monster—you’re ours. And gods help anyone who tries to take you from us again.”

Serine nodded fiercely, tears streaking her face. Arkanthos was silent, but the faint warmth from his skull felt like agreement.

Cassian closed his eyes, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something break—the chains inside, loosening.

We left the cavern together, bloodied but breathing.