High above the chaos of the arena, where the sun cast long shadows across the carved stone stands, two figures sat at the very top—unmoving, silent to the crowd, yet watchful. The wind stirred their cloaks gently, though neither seemed to notice. One wore a flowing red robe that shimmered faintly with woven sigils of authority. His golden eyes, unnaturally round and alert, missed no detail. The other, smaller, was wrapped in charcoal-black feathers, his dark wings twitching anxiously every so often.
"Wow! Did you see that, Simi?" the red-robed figure said, his voice low but electric with wonder as he shook the winged arm of his companion. His golden eyes followed the movement of a competitor below, blinking slowly—almost too slowly, as if his gaze moved at a rhythm older than the rest of the world.
"Calm down, Your Majesty," Simi hissed, feathers bristling as he looked around nervously. "You'll attract unwanted attention to yourself. If someone identifies you, I'm not sure about you, but Sir Shashi will surely punish me."
"Don't worry about him, Simi. We'll tell him we ran off from the castle again, and you were only trying to find us," the King replied with a glint of mischief in his eye, his head tilting smoothly in a way no ordinary creature could replicate.
"Please don't say that, my King. He'll punish me for not stopping you," Simi said with a puff of frustration. "But… my King, if I may be so bold, I want to ask—do you really believe someone like that exists? Someone you'll be able to find before the prophecy becomes true?"
The King fell quiet for a moment. A gentle breeze rustled his robe as he watched two fighters clash below. His eyes never blinked, but when they did, it was slow and deliberate.
"Relax, Simi. We are not so cruel that we would destroy someone merely for questioning us," the King said finally. "Honestly, we don't believe the Temple's claim that we can find such a one through this tournament. But we believe the old sheep's words—as if they were nature itself speaking."
"You mean the old prophet?" Simi asked, beak twitching. "I thought she left on a journey to find the chosen one. I even saw her take flight after declaring her prophecy aloud in the castle—
'The darkness shall awaken, and upon waking, it will claim what was never meant to be its. It can only be stopped by someone who is humble and stronger than others.'"
"Wrong," the King said, eyes narrowing. "That's only the half of the prophecy—the part the Temple allowed the people to hear. The old goat told us the full version before leaving on her search. It goes like this—
'He who sleeps shall awaken, and upon waking, reclaim what was once his — and seize what was never meant to be his. In his relentless path, he shall heed neither man nor beast, nor force nor fate. Only one may halt his march — one who dares to claim the Sleeper's rightful belonging before he does. But if this one fails to realize their strength before the Sleeper reclaims his own… then all that exists shall come to an end.'"
Simi stared at him in disbelief, his feathers stiffening in the wind. "What? That means the Temple is using the first half to gather crowds and fill their donation boxes. This is outrageous! Why didn't you stop them, my lord?"
"To take away the only hope our people have?" the King replied, his voice calm, but heavy with burden. "They think they are safe. That the monsters born from the dark trees can be defeated. Let them believe that. Hope, even when born of illusion, is still a light in the dark. And sometimes, a lie gives strength that truth cannot."
Simi looked down, shame darkening his tone. "The King is wise. Forgive me for questioning you."
A long silence passed between them. Below, a young fighter took the stage—quiet, small compared to the others, but with an unshakable calm in his posture.
"So," Simi said softly, "you are only here to observe your kingdom's strength. Did you find someone who caught your eye?"
"If we must say," the King murmured, never looking away from the field, "we pick the human."
...
The arena hummed with tension as Gautam and Jagdev stepped into the sunlit battleground.
Jagdev's wings spread wide behind him, each feather glimmering faintly with aura. His face, hawk-like and sharp, held a cruel smile. "Let's make this quick, snake," he said, voice cutting through the wind. His talons flexed. Aura flared at his back, and he shot into the air, leaving a gust of wind behind.
Gautam remained still. His long, snake-like body lay coiled on the ground, humanoid torso upright. He had no wings. No legs. Only two muscular arms and a calm, focused stare.
Jagdev soared high, circling like a predator. Then, with a cry, he raised one hand—his aura surged—and a volley of glowing feathers launched downward, each humming with energy.
Gautam's body twisted—an elegant, almost unnatural movement. The feathers struck the ground where he had been, bursting in flashes of white light and slicing stone. He didn't block them. He simply wasn't there.
Jagdev dived, talons first. Gautam raised one arm, letting it absorb the impact. The other arm shot forward and caught Jagdev's wrist in mid-air. There was a brief struggle, wind against muscle, and then Gautam slammed Jagdev into the ground with a brutal thud. Dust exploded from the impact.
Jagdev bounced back, wings spread wide, using the momentum to leap into the sky again. "You're fast," he hissed, circling.
Gautam didn't reply. His body began to move—a low, silent glide across the arena floor, almost like flowing water. His long body traced a slow circle, surrounding Jagdev without the bird-man realizing it.
Jagdev rose higher, then flared his wings again—hundreds of aura feathers formed behind him in a fan, all glowing with heat.
"You can't dodge forever."
He unleashed them.
A storm of energy descended. Gautam didn't run. He slammed both palms into the ground, and from his hands, a dome of aura burst outward, absorbing the first wave. But feathers kept coming—breaking through, cutting into his arm and shoulder. Blood sprayed, but he didn't flinch.
Jagdev rushed in behind the feathers, claws ready. He expected Gautam to defend again.
Instead, Gautam lunged forward, aura flowing through his upper body. He took the hit, claw raking across his chest—but his arms locked around Jagdev's midsection. And his tail, already slithering in a wide loop, snapped shut behind him.
The trap was sprung.
Jagdev's eyes widened. His wings flared, feathers glowing, but they were pinned. Gautam's coils tightened—a slow, terrifying pressure backed by focused aura. His grip was like steel laced with fire.
Jagdev screamed, flailing. His feathers exploded outward in desperation. Several cut into Gautam's side, but the pressure only increased. Gautam's aura pulsed inward, reinforcing his grip instead of shielding his body. Every breath Jagdev tried to take was crushed.
"You rely too much on height," Gautam muttered, voice steady in his opponent's ear. "But there's no sky left."
Jagdev struggled one last time, wings glowing—he tried to burst upward.
Gautam shifted his grip, pressed both palms to Jagdev's back, and sent a shock of focused aura straight through his spine.
Jagdev went limp.
The crowd fell silent as Gautam uncoiled his body and let the eagle warrior slump to the stone.
His wounds bled freely, but he stood tall. The sunlight caught his bloodstained scales and the dull shimmer of aura that still pulsed from his chest.
The serpent had won.