🔹Act 5🔹

Kaelis’ Pov

I barely had time to process his words before Soren’s deep voice cut through the crowd.

“This is Orin Ashvale, reigning champion of the Festival of Moons race,” he announced.

The crowd erupted again— shouts, cheers and people hitting their hands on the chair. The sound slammed into me, and every eyes seemed to follow him, yet he looked straight at me.

He lifted a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and the look he gave me… it was bold, sultry and almost teasing. Heat rushed to my cheeks and my throat went dry.

I didn’t know if I should look away, smile, or run but instead I sat, my eyes fixed on him.

“You look tense,” he said, voice low.

“I’m… not tense,” I snapped, the words sharper than I intended but my pulse betrayed me, pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

His brow lifted. “No?” His gaze dropped to my hands, where my knuckles whitened against the arm of the chair. “Strange. You’re holding on like the ground might vanish beneath you.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I loosened my grip at once, annoyed with myself and with him for noticing. “Maybe I just don’t like being stared at.”

He chuckled low, and the sound sank under my skin. “I doubt that’s true. You’ve been stared at your whole life, haven’t you?” His eyes burned into mine, steady and unflinching. “But me…” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear though he didn’t touch me. “…I’m not just staring, but I’m watching.”

Before I could answer, the ground trembled beneath the roar of more engines. Six more riders rode into the arena, each one dressed in iron and leather, their weapons shiny under the flames. The air smelled of smoke and bloodlust.

The crowd surged to their feet, chanting, howling, the frenzy growing louder with each rev of the bikes.

“I’ll see you at the finish line, my lady,” he said, flashing me one last sultry look that stuck like a touch on my skin.

Then, with a mocking bow, he excused himself and strode back toward his bike.

And as the others lined up beside him, engines growling like beasts ready to kill, I realized… this was no race.

It was war on wheels.

Orin gave me one last glance, slow before he swung onto his bike with effortless grace, his movements were smooth almost like he was dancing.

Six riders lined up behind him, each a storm waiting to break.

The first, a massive brute with a spiked mace strapped to his back, growled as he revved his engine. Sparks flew from his wheels scraping the concrete floor.

The second, lean and fast, carried a pair of whips tipped with razor wire. She circled her bike, fingers flexing like claws, eyes scanning for weakness.

The third had jagged blades welded to his wheels, teeth gnashing at the edge of his helmet. Every turn, every jerk of his bike sent shards of metal flashing.

The fourth, massive like a war elephant, had a ram-like attachment on the front, ready to crush anything in his path.

The fifth carried a crossbow rigged to fire explosive bolts. He crouched low, aiming, ready to launch.

The sixth had a chain of spikes dangling from his handlebars, spinning like a deadly fan. He cracked a grin that made me shiver.

Orin didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, fingers tight on the handles, muscles coiled.

“On your marks—” the announcer bellowed.

Engines roared. The wind stung my eyes. My pulse raced faster than the engines themselves.

“Set—”

The crowd was deafening, anticipation crackling like lightning.

The starting horn blared.

They were off.

Engines roared and tires screeched, sending dust and sparks that rose like fire and smoke from hell.

And him— Orin.

He didn’t just ride; rather he commanded, his eyes were fixed on me as though I was the only one in the arena— the others might as well not exist.

The first rider swung his mace as they shot forward. Orin leaned low, his bike sliding close to the dirt, and kicked the man’s wheel. Sparks flew, sending the man staggering sideways.

The crowd howled in great delight.

My hands flew to my mouth.

Orin dodged a strike meant to take off his head, his bike swerving so close to the barrier I thought he’d crash. Instead, he laughed… laughed and glanced up at me, his teeth flashing in a grin.

A weird feeling rose in my chest… something I could not name.

Fear?

Anger?

The wire whip lashed toward Orin’s shoulder. He twisted, letting it scrape across his arm, as the leather jacket got ripped against the whip.

I wanted to look away. Gods, I wanted but instead I leaned forward, breath shallow, and my heart was hammering so violently that it hurt.

Orin looked back at me. He smirked as though every kill was a private performance meant for me alone.

I hated it…

I hated the way my breath caught in my throat, the way my pulse seemed tied to his every reckless move.

Then blood sprayed again. A rider tried to slash Orin’s arm, but he twisted, grabbed the man’s wrist mid-swing, and slammed it down into his own wheel. The scream that followed made my skin crawl.

The fourth rammed him head-on. Orin jumped the bike, tires skidding as the brute roared, striking his bike with fists wrapped in chains. Orin twisted mid-air, landing with great precision.

The fifth fired explosive bolts. One landed near Orin, dirt and flame erupting. Fire engulfed his arm but he quickly put it out, and leaned into it, moving forward at high speed and laughing low under his breath.

The sixth swung the spinning chain like a hurricane. It cut deep into the ground beside Orin, knocking stones at his chest. He shifted sideways, chain grazing his shoulder, leaving a thin scratch.

His eyes met mine… he was fire and danger as every movement was brutal yet controlled, his bike an extension of him. The others fell, one by one, until there were only two left.

And Orin’s bike was burning.

Flames had circled the frame of the bike and had curled around his legs.

I rose halfway from my seat as panic clawed its way up my throat.

He didn’t falter nor did he slow down, instead he drove faster to his last rival, sending sparks flying as they scraped together. With one savage push, he sent the man rolling into the dirt.

Orin’s bike was already burning, flames swallowing up the sides and smoke covering him whole…

The crowd was on their feet, chanting his name, calling for blood and for glory.

I couldn’t hear them… I could only hear the hammer of my own pulse.

And then he crossed the finish line.

The bike collapsed beneath him, flames devouring it whole.

The crowd exploded, chanting his name like he was more than a man like he was a god of blood and steel.

I was already moving before I had time to think, shoving past guards, my skirts tangling around my legs as I ran to him and the roar of the crowd nothing but noise in my ears.

“Orin!” I shouted, dropping to my knees.

My hands fumbled with his helmet and my fingers trembled so badly I could barely undo the clasps.

Finally, it came free, and I dragged it off as smoke and sweat clung to his skin and his cheek coated with soot and blood.

His lips curved, the faintest smirk despite the ash smeared across him as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

I hated how my heart stuttered and the heat low in my stomach when his eyes locked on mine. Hated the part of me that ached with relief.

“Oh, princess,” he rasped, voice rough but unbearably smug. His eyes burned into mine, steady and unshaken.

“I don’t die easily.”