A day before the queen's birthday.
A man with long hair as dark as midnight and bound high with a red ribbon stood in line among the other hopeful contenders for the martial arts competition. His stance was upright, his presence commanding, though he did nothing but wait. Beside him lingered a younger man with short, curly hair and skin like polished charcoal, his eyes restless as they darted around the crowd.
"Master," the curly-haired disciple murmured, unease lacing his words. "Do you think I am ready for this?"
"No," came the gruff reply, low and steady like the rumble of distant thunder. "You are not. You came here to observe. Others will fight for your place."
The young man who was embarrassed looked down at his feet. His master's sharp tongue really stung.
