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The arena floor trembled as the first names were called.
"In the name of the high throne of Sol'tavarel, the western sun-blessed kingdom of winds, arises Sir Caldris of Iserel, master of the crystal lance and bearer of the windmarked seal!"
A tall figure stepped forward from the ranks, his silver-and-aqua armor shimmering like a mirage. His helm curved like a bird's beak, designed to glide through the wind. He held a single, long crystalline spear, glowing faintly with a pulse that mimicked breath.
"And to meet him, Sir Brennick of Blackhollow, sworn knight of the Dravenguard core, squire to the late champion Durnhan, and wielder of the Hollowbrand blade!"
A different kind of man rose from the shadows beneath the gate. His armor was blackened steel, dented and scarred. Heavy pauldrons bore the sigil of a roaring lion pierced with a broken blade. His sword, jagged at the spine, was said to have been forged from meteorite, an iron from beyond the sky.
The two knights met in the center of the colosseum.
The sun above flared through the skyward arch, catching every edge of their armor, casting streaks of light across their weapons. Enchanted sand glowed with golden veins beneath their boots.
The crowd had gone still.
It was not mere excitement, it was reverence. Everyone, from wandering merchant to silk-draped duchess, leaned forward.
On the highest dais, King Zeburel Ashkeroth watched with cool pride.
At his side, Princess Vaeloria sipped from a crystal goblet, though her eyes never blinked. Further behind, cloaked in my modest gray, I stood among the court attendants,my gaze locked to the arena with an intensity even i didn't fully understand.
"Combatants," the Herald's voice rang, "step forth and declare your weapons. You enter now as swords of your nations."
The knights bowed to the thrones, then to one another.
Sir Caldris twirled his lance once, letting it hum as the wind shifted. His body took a side-angled stance, like a dancer poised for the first note of a divine melody.
Sir Brennick, in contrast, simply raised his blade to his shoulder, planting his feet apart like stone. His eyes, grey and hollow as ash, did not blink.
"Let battle... commence."
The arena erupted in sound.
But the knights did not move.
Not yet.
The silence that followed was not a failure to act, but the breath before a storm. Caldris and Brennick circled. One graceful, light as wind. The other—a mountain carved in purpose.
Then
A spark of air shimmered.
And Caldris struck.
He lunged with lightning precision, his crystal lance singing through the air in a perfect spiral.
Brennick pivoted. His sword rose like a wall, and clang! metal met enchantment.
They disengaged instantly, stepping back. A ripple of wind followed Caldris, the crystal spear twisting once more around his wrist as if alive.
The crowd gasped at the technique.
"Windborne flow!" someone whispered. "It's true!"
He lunged again, this time a triple feint: high, low, high, then spun and aimed for the unguarded side. But Brennick was no ordinary brute. With brute timing, he dropped to one knee, letting Caldris pass him mid-spin, and slammed his elbow into the knight's exposed chestplate.
Caldris reeled.
A quick thrust from Brennick followed, but Caldris deflected it with the butt of his spear and twisted sideways, his feet barely touching the ground.
"Did you see that?" someone exclaimed from the noble tiers. "He used the air like a stepping stone!"
"No. It's enchantment," another answered. "Wind-stepping is forbidden in war, but not in tournament!"
My eyes were wide. I wasn't a soldier. I didn't know the names of combat forms or enchanted fighting styles. But I knew beauty when I saw it, and this battle was beautiful.
It was like poetry shaped in war.
Back and forth they clashed. Brennick's brute strength against Caldris's flowing elegance.
Blades screamed. Sparks flew. Dust lifted and fell like mist.
At one point, Caldris flipped backward and hurled his lance into the ground, only for it to explode upward in a geyser of wind, blinding Brennick temporarily. He used the moment to rush forward, arms whirling, the shaft of the spear spinning too fast for the naked eye.
But Brennick dropped his sword,
And caught the spear mid-strike.
The crowd cried out.
The Dravenguard knight hurled the spear aside and punched Caldris square in the chest, sending him flying.
Then he retrieved Hollowbrand, dragging it once across the sand as it lit with deep red runes.
The runes for sealing.
I heard someone gasp. "That's a forbidden technique, he's sealing the wind enchantments!"
Indeed, Caldris rose to his knees, breathing hard and found the air... still.
His lance wouldn't hum. The wind wouldn't answer.
Brennick was walking now. Slowly. Blade ready.
And yet, Caldris smiled.
Then, slowly, he lifted a charm from around his neck. A sunstone, pure and glowing. He crushed it.
The air shivered.
And the wind screamed back.
In a single, heart-stopping moment, Caldris surged forward, reclaimed his lance mid-air, and twirled once, twice...
And struck.
The tip of his lance touched Brennick's armor...
But stopped just at the surface.
The blow never landed.
Instead, Caldris froze, and so did Brennick.
Then both bowed, stepping back in perfect unison.
"Yielded?" the Herald asked, stepping forward.
Both nodded.
The crowd held its breath, then exploded into roaring applause.
"They honored the code," someone whispered. "They chose not to spill blood when death was not required."
"A duel of legends," another said.
Even the nobles murmured in respect.
Up on the royal dais, King Zeburel stood and raised a hand.
"Well struck. Honor to both houses."
In the stands, I just realized i had been holding my breath. I placed my hand on ny6 chest. My heart raced.
That… that was just the beginning?
And still, as the knights exited the field, Caldris with his long, graceful stride, Brennick with slow gravity, my eyes wandered...
...to the figure in white.
The silent knight who had not yet moved.
The one without a house.
And far in the crowd, cloaked in shadow, a pair of golden eyes watched.
Not from the stands.
Not from the royal boxes.
But from beneath the arena itself.
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