And so, the day of the tournament arrived.
Aria crouched near a gate at the end of a long hallway, a red carpet stretched beneath her feet and a marble pillar at her side. She gently cupped Luna's face, her voice soft as she said, "Remember, you sit in the front chair—the one in the center."
Letting go of her cheek, she took Luna's hands in hers, holding them tightly. "Stay here. This place is safe. No matter what happens, don't leave. Promise me, okay?"
Her eyes spoke what words couldn't—steady brows, unwavering gaze, full of quiet urgency.
"I'll stay. Don't worry!" Luna replied cheerfully, swinging Aria's hands playfully. A light giggle escaped her lips.
Aria stood and gave Luna's head a gentle pat before walking to the door. She opened it, casting a glance over her shoulder.
"Go on and take your seat. The show will start soon."
"Alright!" Luna chirped. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Aria in a tight hug before skipping toward the open room.
She looked back one last time. Aria stood calm, her expression soft, eyes relaxed. Seeing her like that made a smile bloom on Luna's face.
Then the door closed behind her.
Inside, the chamber was grand but elegant—noble guests filled the seats to her left and right. The marble walls were etched with delicate golden patterns, red curtains draped the sides of the balustrade, and a plush crimson carpet blanketed the floor beneath her feet.
Luna made her way to the seat at the very front, just behind the balustrade—the perfect spot to watch the tournament unfold.
Beyond the chamber, a ring of tiered seating wrapped around the dueling grounds outside, rising in gentle layers no more than a few dozen high. Slender stone pillars marked the upper edges like silent sentinels. People filed in along narrow staircases—some whispering in excitement, others quiet with tension—taking their places as the crowd's hum settled into expectant silence.
Luna sat down, eyes fixed on the arena.
She waited for the announcement that would mark the beginning.
…
A man emerged from the archway tunnel and stepped confidently into the center of the arena.
A towering figure in ornate robes, the announcer stood tall beneath the evening sky, his presence commanding. His voice rang out like rolling thunder, resonant and powerful, shaking the air with authority. Eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom, and every word he spoke carried the weight of tradition—igniting the crowd's anticipation. In his hand, a staff adorned with glowing runes pulsed with magical energy, a symbol of both ceremony and spectacle.
"Welcome, students! And honored guests!" he spoke. "Tonight marks the first day of the Tournament! Who will lose? Who will triumph? Curious, aren't you? Oh, hell, of course you are!"
The crowd laughed and stirred.
"So sit down and wait in anticipation—as the first participants prepare to enter the arena!"
He cleared his throat, gave a curt nod, and turned, striding back through the archway.
Luna sank deeper into her chair, letting the announcer's energy wash over her as she nestled into the plush cushions. Her heart pounded, but her face was calm. It was finally starting.
. . .
The announcer burst through the chamber doors again, voice booming once more.
"Avarin Lava! Navila Aval! Step into the arena!"
The room behind him was large, its polished wooden floor glowing softly beneath beams of filtered sunlight. A long table stretched down the center, surrounded by rows of chairs—most already filled with participants. Some sat in silence; others whispered to one another, tense and alert.
Avarin Lava stood first—a young man with a strong, upright posture, brown hair, and sharp green eyes. "Alright," he said calmly, brushing his cloak aside.
Navila Aval rose just behind him. Broad-shouldered and muscular, with short blond hair and piercing blue eyes, he nodded silently.
The announcer glanced back over his shoulder. "Move it!"
The two passed by Aria as they stepped through the doorway, the heavy door creaking shut behind them.
Once they were gone, Aria circled the table and took a seat. With a soft sigh, she lowered her head onto the smooth wooden surface, eyes fluttering closed as the light shimmered faintly across the room.
"Still a long day ahead," she thought.
…
The crowd erupted—roaring, cheering, screaming—as the two participants emerged from opposite ends of the arena, facing one another across the wide dueling ground.
Luna jolted upright, snapping out of her half-asleep daze. She rose from her chair and leaned over the balustrade, eyes fixed on the scene below.
Avarin drew his sword in one swift motion. The long, gleaming blade caught the light, its edge razor-sharp. He wore shining silver armor etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly with magical energy.
Navila followed, unsheathing her own weapon. Though her blade bore runes as well, they looked freshly carved—less elegant, but full of raw power. Her armor was duller, scratched from past battles, carrying the story of experience.
She pointed her sword toward Avarin, a playful grin on her face.
"It's your loss today, poor you," she said with mock sympathy. "Better forfeit—way safer that way!"
Avarin scoffed. "You wish! Let's just hope you come out of this in one piece."
Navila barked a laugh. "Ha! You're one to talk!"
Then, from the tunnel, the announcer stepped out once more. His voice rang through the arena, cutting through the noise with theatrical flair.
"Oh, great audience! The moment you've waited for is here—the first match of the day!"
He gestured grandly toward the combatants.
"Avarin Lava versus Navila Aval! Two proud students of our academy—let the battle begin!"
He raised his staff high.
"On three…"
"Two…"
"One…"
"Begin!"