In the middle of Eldermoor lay a very unique dome, one that every major city in Caeloria had. In a world where power was worshipped, no place would be complete without a stadium. And Eldermoor's stadium cut no corners.
A massive colosseum-like structure, it could house almost a hundred and fifty thousand people.
And on this day, every single one of those seats was filled.
The air crackled with excitement, and everyone cheered, filling the stadium with a deafening roar.
Banners of the four participating academies – Everglen's green and white, Blackstone's stark black, Highcrest's bold scarlet, and Valemarch's brown and gold – were hung in four directions, students gathered behind their respective banners, adding splashes of color to the giant arena.
In the center of the enormous arena floor, a raised circular platform awaited the combatants. Directly above it, in tiered seating with the best view and closest to the action, the headmasters of the academies and the city's dignitaries sat calmly.
With them, of course, was Maelon Virestone, the Emissary from the Citadel of Fate, his expression as unreadable as ever.
On the arena floor, two tunnels stood, students lining the entrances. These were the contenders. Arthur had already come to the stadium early in the morning, taking the atmosphere in.
If he couldn't get used to the cheers, how would he fight to his best?
The roar of the crowd intensified when the first announcer, a portly man with a booming voice amplified by what looked like a sound-projection artifact, stepped onto a smaller, adjacent platform.
"Welcome, citizens of Eldermoor! Welcome, esteemed guests! Today, we bear witness to a momentous occasion! Today, our finest young talents will clash for the honor of representing our city in the trials for the legendary Imperial Fate Academy!"
Another wave of cheers.
"The tournament will proceed in stages! First, our preliminary elimination rounds, where many will strive, but few will advance! Let the contests begin!"
The announcer's voice boomed again.
"First match! From Valemarch Academy, Lyra! And her opponent, from Blackstone Academy, Borin!"
Two young figures stepped onto the platform from opposite ends. Lyra was slight, her knuckles white as she clutched a small, unadorned wooden wand.
Borin was broader, with a determined set to his jaw. As they moved, Arthur could see the faint, silvery mark of a broken chain shine briefly on their forearms – the mark of a Pawn.
"Both Beginner Pawns," Arthur noted to himself, assessing their faint mana signatures. "Borin's aura is a bit steadier, his stance more grounded. Lyra's mana flickers, almost brighter, but less controlled."
The starting gong echoed through the arena.
Borin immediately surged forward, his fists glowing with a faint, earthy brown aura of mana as he aimed to close the distance quickly.
Lyra, however, was ready. She chanted a quick, simple incantation, and a small, crackling ball of fire, about the size of a clenched fist, sputtered into existence before her.
With a flick of her wand, she sent it flying towards the charging Borin. Borin grunted, twisting his body at the last second.
The fireball singed the air where he'd been, leaving a faint smell of burnt ozone.
He didn't slow, though.
Lyra, meanwhile, was already backing away, trying to maintain distance, her lips moving as she prepared another spell.
This time, a thin, shimmering barrier of air, barely visible, flickered into existence in front of her. Borin's mana-infused fist slammed into it. The barrier rippled violently, holding for a tense moment before shattering with a sound like breaking glass.
The force of the impact, though diminished, still sent Lyra stumbling back a step. The crowd murmured, appreciating the close exchange.
Lyra, regaining her footing, quickly launched another, slightly larger fireball. Borin, learning from the first exchange, met it head-on, his empowered fist punching through the flames, though he winced as his knuckles were singed.
He pressed his advantage, lunging forward. Lyra, her mana clearly draining from maintaining the barrier and launching spells, tried to conjure a gust of wind to push him back, but it was too little, too late.
Borin's shoulder connected with hers, sending her sprawling to the packed earth. Before she could recover, he stood over her, his fist raised, his breathing heavy. The judge stepped forward.
"Winner, Borin from Blackstone Academy!"
The crowd offered a respectable round of applause.
A few more matches followed, each as exciting as the last. Then, the announcer's voice boomed with renewed vigor.
"Next up, a match you won't want to miss! From Highcrest Academy, the Ice Queen herself, the prodigious Rook, Seraphina Vayne!"
A hush fell over the crowd, followed by an explosion of cheers.
Seraphina glided onto the platform, her ice-blue hair flowing, her expression serene, almost detached.
Her opponent, a nervous-looking boy from Everglen named Marcus, visibly gulped. The broken chain mark on his arm, clearly indicating him as a Pawn, seemed to mock his chances.
The gong sounded. Marcus, perhaps hoping for a miracle or a lucky shot, roared and charged, his own fists glowing with a faint aura as he channeled his mana.
Seraphina didn't move from her spot. As Marcus closed in, she simply raised one elegant hand.
The air around her fist seemed to shimmer, condensing with an almost invisible frost. With a movement so swift it was almost a blur, she delivered a single, precise open-palm strike to Marcus's charging shoulder.
There was no grand explosion, no dramatic display. Just a dull thud. Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide with shock.
Then, his entire body stiffened, a thin layer of white frost instantly coating his arm and spreading rapidly across his chest. He shivered once, violently, then his legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the platform, completely immobilized, conscious but unable to move a muscle.
The judge, after a stunned moment, rushed forward, checked Marcus, and then raised his hand.
"Winner, Seraphina Vayne!"
One move.
The difference in power was absolute, a chasm between a Pawn and a Rook. The crowd roared its approval, awed by the display of effortless dominance.
Seraphina gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, then turned and glided off the platform as serenely as she had arrived.
Arthur watched, his expression thoughtful. That was the power of a Rook, and a highly skilled one at that.
"She's strong. Really strong."
The thought echoed in his mind. The announcer's voice cut through his thoughts.
"And for our next match! From Everglen Academy, Arthur Greymark!" Arthur took a breath.
His turn.