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Isaac studied me momentarily, his expression unreadable while his eyes flicked down my curves. He had called me ugly while drunk, but the hunger in his eyes didn't agree. I avoided bringing the topic up, settling into the rhythm of the walk once more.
Time passed. The sun dipped past the apex in the sky as we descended the volcano, casting long shadows and bathing the landscape in unrelenting heat.
The only sounds that accompanied us were the crunch of gravel beneath our boots and the rustling of bushes as the wind danced through them. Even the few hardy creatures that had eked out an existence on this barren land seemed to have fallen silent. I eyed the volcano, worrying over its state.
"Watch your step here," Isaac murmured. I nodded, focusing on each footfall, acutely aware that one misstep could send me plummeting down the steep slope.
The wind started up around us. Our clothes were still damp from sweat, clinging uncomfortably to our skin, but the coolness was welcome after the day's heat.
When we reached the rappelling spot, Isaac took the position of my spotter. The spot was warn, and there were hooks for us to attach all of our equipment to. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it easier for me.
Despite the tension between us, his eyes held a steady focus, and I knew he would be unerring in his vigilance. With a deep breath, I leaned back over the edge, feeling the ropes go taut as I began my controlled descent.
"Doing well," he called up to me. Everything was so hollow, so clinical, like he was gaining my trust before he attacked.
The dry, cracked earth crunched under my boots as we descended into the valley between the volcanoes. A hot, acrid wind stung my eyes and face, carrying the sulfuric stench of molten rock.
I squinted against the glare of the sinking sun, surveying the terrain. Jagged black rocks littered the ground, treacherous footing that could easily lead to a twisted ankle or worse. My leg was still sore. The valley floor was uneven, sloping downwards into a ravine filled with boulders. And on the other side, the next volcano rose like a towering inferno.
“Let me help you with your stuff,” Isaac murmured while he took my pack and helped me out of my gear. We weren’t friendly, but I was tired.
Trabajadores were everywhere, not to mention a handful of Médicos. It wouldn’t be long before the other competitors arrived.
“Gracias,” I murmured. I sat down, and someone passed me fresh water. I reclined against a rock and stared up at the sky while I focused on keeping my breathing even and rehydrating.
Isaac disappeared for a bit, but I didn’t think to care until he returned with my pack. He glanced down, his lips curving into a predatory smile when he placed the bag at my feet. “I am going to sleep now so we can head out early tomorrow morning. Best of luck, Rena. You're going to need it."
Before I could respond, he was off, and I turned my attention to the expanse in front of me.
My heart sank at the sight. How were we supposed to cross this wasteland in one day? The path would be brutal. Surviving it would be challenging enough with how far we had pushed our bodies.
I hoped the awkwardness between us would pass.
More Trabajadores came into view, waiting for our arrival with practiced decorum for the next generation of leaders. I could see that their attitude had changed, and they were more gracious than before.
I gave them a weary nod, grateful for their presence and the sense of order they provided amidst the chaos of the tournament. I checked in as quickly as I could.
"Que descansen," one of the Trabajadores said with a gracious nod before I left to prepare camp for the night. There was no feast, and I saw no Médicos within sight.
I glanced at Isaac, wondering what thoughts were running through his mind. Was he as tired as I was, or did the prospect of the next challenge stir a fire within him, driving him on in pursuit of victory?
The night descended upon us like a heavy velvet curtain; the sky was painted with a myriad of stars that glittered in the darkness—one hour passed and then another. I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of ash and sulfur from the volcanoes that stretched up around us.
I knew there were few animals here and no predators to worry over. People rarely came to the Cinturón del Fuego outside of the tournaments.
In the flickering lamplight, I noticed an extraordinary statue near the edge of the camp. Still trying to cool down my muscles, I started walking toward it.
It was a woman, her face sculpted into an expression of wrath, her robes detailed with a worn intensity that suggested a bygone era.
"Disculpe señorita. No se puede tocar la figura," a Trabajador said.
I studied the woman carved from dark stone, draped in heavy robes that fell to her feet. She gazed at me with sightless eyes, but what caught me was the wyvern patterns along her robe.
I had only seen wyverns with royalty.
"Who is that?" I asked the Trabajador.
He smiled and bowed as he approached. I wished they had given them name tags.
