The Stolen Heir’s Bond

Kael ran.

The cold stone of the palace dungeons blurred past as he and Elaria sprinted through the narrow corridors. The moment the prisoner had spoken those words—he's in the arena—Kael's world had narrowed to a single purpose.

He had spent years believing his father was dead. He would not lose him now.

Elaria was right beside him, her breaths sharp. "This is insane."

Kael didn't slow. "We don't have a choice."

They burst through a side passage, emerging into the night air. The palace walls loomed behind them, but ahead—

The arena.

It rose like a beast of stone and iron, its towering walls lined with torches and banners. Even at this hour, it was alive.

Shouts and cheers echoed from inside. The scent of blood and sweat filled the air.

Kael's hands curled into fists.

The execution had already begun.

—

They reached the back entrance, where guards stood watch. Too many to fight.

Kael pulled Elaria into the shadows. "We need another way in."

She scanned the arena's structure, her sharp mind already calculating. "There," she whispered, pointing to a cargo liftattached to the outer wall. "It must lead to the holding cells."

Kael nodded. "Then let's move."

They crept toward the lift, their footsteps silent. A single guard manned the controls, his back turned—

Kael struck fast, wrapping an arm around the man's neck and dragging him into the shadows. A swift, silent takedown.

Elaria raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."

Kael didn't waste time with a reply. He yanked the lever, and the lift lurched upward.

As they rose, the roar of the crowd grew louder.

Kael's stomach twisted.

They were running out of time.

—

The lift stopped at the top level—just behind the massive iron gates of the arena.

Kael barely hesitated before moving forward, slipping into the shadows beneath the stands. The view beyond the gates sent a chill through his blood.

The sand of the arena was stained red.

And at the center—

A lone man stood, bound and beaten, his silver-streaked hair matted with blood.

Kael's father.

A warrior once feared across kingdoms, now a prisoner waiting for death.

Across from him, a towering figure in black armor stepped forward, wielding a massive blade. The executioner.

Kael's breath came fast and sharp.

Elaria grabbed his arm. "Kael. Think."

But Kael wasn't thinking.

He was already moving.

Already running toward the gates.

And as the executioner raised his blade—

Kael ripped a sword from a fallen guard and leapt into the arena.

The crowd gasped.

Steel clashed.

And Kael became the storm.