Keros strode briskly up the tree-lined path leading to Avita's mansion, eager to continue his combat training. The grand tournament in the capital was fast approaching and he needed to make the most of their remaining sessions.
As he walked through the front gates, Keros called out "Lady Avita? Are you here?" His voice echoed off the marble walls, but there was no reply. The mansion seemed devoid of its usual tranquility.
Making his way inside, Keros wandered the mansion's expansive rooms and hallways, growing more puzzled when he found no sign of Avita or even the servants. Finally, he came upon old Mari tidying up in the library.
"Miss Mari, where is everyone? Where has Lady Avita gone?" Keros asked.
The servant sighed. "Oh, I'm afraid the High Priestess has already departed for the capital, young sir. She left three days past to attend to her duties for the tournament."
Keros' heart sank. Fearing he was already too late, Keros bid Mari farewell and hurried off. Now she was suddenly gone and the tournament fast approaching.
Keros spent a restless night pondering what to do next. He had worked so hard for the tournament, certain that it was his destiny. Could he really squander such an opportunity just because she had been called away early?
No, Keros decided. He would carry on and make Avita proud. This was his chance to show the entire kingdom his power. Avita had lit the spark within him - now it was up to Keros to fan it into a raging fire for all to see.
The next morning, Keros packed his limited belongings and set off to tell his family goodbye. They reacted with a mixture of concern, disappointment and encouragement.
His mother tried to dissuade Keros one last time. "It's not too late to stay, my son. Forget this foolish tournament. Come back to us." She caressed his cheek, her weathered face full of worry.
Keros gently removed her hand. "My path lies ahead of me now, not behind. When I return, it will be as a champion." His eyes blazed with self-assurance.
Keros's father smiled and placed his large hand on Keros's shoulder. His voice was low and filled with pride as he spoke, "Keros, you did the right thing. I know it wasn't easy to stand up against your peers like that but nobody ever said the right thing would be without challenge." He looked into his son's face with admiration before continuing, "You have shown great strength of character in this situation and I'm proud of you." With these words, an unspoken bond passed between them - a shared understanding that nothing could shake either one from their conviction to do what is good despite difficult circumstances.
Keros looked at his mother, the sadness weighing heavy and laden in his voice. "Tell Lena and Darn goodbye for me," he said, hands folded tightly in prayer as if willing her to understand what he couldn't say with words.
After one last farewell embrace, Keros departed, not looking back even as his mother's muffled sobs reached his ears. The past was gone - only his luminous future mattered now.
The journey to the capital was long and grueling. Keros feared he would arrive too late to register for the tournament. He pushed himself harder than ever before, living off the land and resting little.
One frigid, rainy night, Keros found meager shelter under a rocky overhang. Shivering beneath his cloak, his confidence wavered. What did he really know of the capital or its denizens? Perhaps this tournament was a mistake.
No! He could not give into weakness now. Had he not sworn an oath to Avita herself to be strong? Keros clung to her faith in him, using it as a talisman to ward off creeping doubts. Soon the capital's spires appeared in the distance. His goal was within reach at last.
Crossing the city gates, even Keros' exhausted eyes widened in amazement. Valexus's Capital was a city like none he had ever seen before. Towering temples and palaces of white granite soared amongst bustling merchant quarters.
Crowds of people from lands near and far crowded the mosaic-tiled streets. Keros had never seen such diversity of dress, language and customs. Riverbend now seemed impossibly small and provincial by comparison.
Making his way through the sprawling city, Keros followed signs pointing towards the colosseum, the site of the impending tournament. His nerves kicked into high gear as the massive holy structure came into view.
Within those ancient walls awaited opponents of legendary skill and renown. What hope did a humble village boy have of emerging anything but utterly defeated?
You swore to never again doubt yourself, Keros reminded himself harshly. This was his opportunity to fulfill Avita's prophecy and be elevated to greatness through trial by combat. Holding his head high, Keros marched through the towering archway and into the arena's heart.
The rows of stone benches encircling the huge central fighting ring were mostly empty, with a few fighters milling about sizing up the competition. Keros kept his cloak hood up, not wanting to attract attention.
One more intimidating than the others was a titanic bald man with muscles rippling beneath his leather armor. The way he glowered and grumbled at anyone who dared make eye contact reminded Keros of an angry bear. Surely not even the hardiest village blacksmith had arms like those, he thought.
At the registration table, Keros breathed a sigh of relief when the attendant found his name on the rolls, despite his late arrival. The attendant looked up from her desk, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. She smiled and said "Keros! I was told to expect you – your name's already been registered with us before we even asked. Are you here as a guest of the High Priestess Avita?" Her voice floated like smoke around him, soft but menacing, like she could read every thought in his head and knew what he had done before coming to her door. He nodded mutely; she waved him through without another word. After receiving a leather wristband to mark his qualification, he decided to take a seat and study his competition.
A fighter stopped in his tracks and looked at Keros with serious amazement. He had heard that a stranger by the name of Avita had been granted entry into their camp, but he hadn't expected it to be this young man standing before him.
They came in all varieties - haughty knights bickering over family crests, weathered mercenaries with haunted eyes, mystics draped in elaborate robes, and many others. But all looked ready to kill or die for a chance at eternal glory.
These were the deadliest fighters from across the continent, and they had trained for years, even decades to be here today. What chance did Keros have against such hardened veterans and ruthless killers? For the first time, the magnitude of what he had gotten into sank in fully.
Keros shook his head, once again banishing the creeping self-doubt. He had his own advantages these fools knew nothing about. When the moment came, his atman abilities would shock all who stood in his way.
The die was cast when he embarked on this road - there could be no turning back now, only moving forward one day and one battle at a time. Whatever the cost, he silently vowed to himself one last time before finally drifting off, he would seize the glory meant to be his...
The next few days passed in a blur as Keros familiarized himself with the colosseum layout and tried to remain inconspicuous. He kept his hood up and spoke rarely, not wanting to reveal anything of his obscure origins or lack of combat experience to the other warriors.
From snippets of conversation, he gleaned that a mighty champion called Maximus Rutilus had won the last grand tournament ten years ago. Many still considered him the man to beat this time as well, despite his advanced age.
As Keros tried to remain inconspicuous among the growing crowds, other noteworthy figures made their way into the bustling colosseum...
Nina, a clever street urchin, slipped unnoticed between the legs of merchants and knights. Though filthy and scrawny, her quick wit had helped her survive the capital's dangerous streets for years. The temptation of seeing the kingdom's mightiest fighters was too great to resist.
Viktor strode purposefully through the gates, excitement roiling beneath his stony exterior. Though still untested in true battle, he eagerness to prove himself made up for his youth. Viktor intended to return home with glory for his clan, or die trying.
The masked man called Jorath passed through the entry arches, ignoring the suspicious glares and muttered curses from those around him. A sinister-looking axe hung across his back. What tragic past had exiled this lone warrior from his home realm?
Zakaris leaned heavily on his oaken staff as he hobbled into the arena, the few wisps of hair left to the wizened combatant blowing in the breeze. His stiff gait could not mask the predatory focus in the elderly warrior's eyes.
Even Lord Vladimir, the secretive scholar said to dwell deep below the ancient castle of Slavhem, emerged briefly from his isolation when he heard of the tournament. Knowledge and power called to those like him.
The opening ceremonies were a raucous affair as throngs of citizens packed the colosseum to overcapacity and patriotic banners from each kingdom snapped vigorously in the breeze. Keros strained for a glimpse of Avita, but the imperial box remained shrouded in veils.
Finally, it came time for the first pairing matches. Keros listened breathlessly as names were called out at random. On only the second day, the bald giant he had noticed earlier was slated to face a swaggering swordsman who had refused to give his name.
All eyes watched eagerly as the two warriors stepped into the ring. A hush fell over the crowd. The brutish bald fighter roared and smashed his spiked gauntlets together, while his opponent calmly drew two gleaming scimitars from beneath his cloak. Suddenly, Keros wished desperately that his battle came later...
And somewhere amidst the teeming crowds, other players with darker purposes took their positions to quietly influence outcomes to their own benefit. But for now, they remained hidden...