Far from the sunlight of the Royal Arena, the air in the cavern was damp and heavy, thick with the scent of cold stone and old blood. Lanterns swung from iron hooks, casting jagged shadows across a circle of cloaked figures seated around a stone table.
"The Vaelthorne brats are performing well," rasped a voice from the shadows, deep and gravel-edged. "Better than we anticipated."
A woman with pale silver hair, her hood half-fallen, allowed herself the faintest smile — one that never reached her eyes.
"It matters little. The seeds are already sown. Once the Seal of the Northern Gate is broken, this kingdom will choke on its own chaos. The so-called 'Academy of Crowns' will be the first to fall."
One of the cloaked figures shifted, the lamplight catching the cruel curve of a horned mask. "Our infiltrators are in place?"
"They are," came a third voice — smooth, cultured, and far too calm for the gravity of the discussion. "Even now, whispers spread among the minor sects. One spark, and the old rivalries will flare. The King's attention will be divided… and when his forces turn outward, we will strike from within."
The horned mask tilted. "And the Dravorn Clan?"
"They will serve their purpose," the silver-haired woman said, gaze sharp as a blade. "Whether they realize it or not. Pride makes for excellent bait."
From the far end of the table, a figure in tattered black robes finally spoke. His voice was like dry leaves scraping stone.
"Do not underestimate the Dragon Vein. If it awakens, the boy may become… inconvenient."
A cold silence fell.
"Then," the cultured voice murmured, "let us ensure it never awakens."
The lantern flames flickered violently as though gripped by unseen hands. When the shadows cleared, the cavern was empty, their presence swallowed by the darkness. Only the echo of their last words lingered in the cold stone.
---
Royal Arena, Noon
A deafening roar of the crowd replaced the suffocating silence of the cavern. Sunlight blazed over the stands, glinting off banners that whipped in the wind. The scent of dust, sweat, and anticipation hung heavy in the air as the announcer's voice boomed across the field.
"Next match — Serenya Vaelthorne versus Kaedric of the Iron Pike Sect!"
Edran leaned forward slightly from his place among the Academy's participants, eyes fixed on his elder sister as she stepped into the arena.
Serenya Vaelthorne – Foundation Establishment, Mid Stage
Her long dark braid swung behind her as she moved, the blue-and-silver crest of their family stitched proudly into her tunic. She carried herself with the quiet certainty of someone who had already won.
Kaedric, her opponent, was a mountain of a man with corded arms and a cruel smile. He hefted his steel-tipped pike like it weighed nothing.
The fight was over in less than three minutes. Serenya's footwork was precise, her strikes unrelenting. A sweep of her spear sent Kaedric stumbling, and a flicker of qi burst from her weapon, slamming into his chest with enough force to send him skidding across the sand.
The crowd erupted. Their father's eyes narrowed in satisfaction, lips barely twitching upward.
---
The next match was harsher to watch.
"Lucien Vaelthorne versus Ryn Falk!"
Lucien — Edran's younger brother — strode forward, jaw set.
Lucien Vaelthorne – Qi Condensation, Peak Stage
His opponent, a lean, sharp-eyed youth from the Jade Viper Sect, smirked as though he had already tasted victory. His specialty was poison qi, and within moments, the air between them shimmered faintly with a green haze.
Lucien fought hard, pushing through the haze, his sword movements clean and deliberate. But the poison seeped into his breathing, slowing him. The fight ended with Lucien kneeling in the sand, coughing hard as the referee raised Ryn's hand in victory.
A hush fell over the Vaelthorne section of the stands. Their father's expression didn't change, but the tightening of his grip on the armrest spoke volumes. Their mother's eyes softened for a heartbeat before her gaze slid to Edran.
---
Edran sat back, folding his hands in his lap. His sister's win. His brother's loss. The contrast sat heavy in his mind.
He let his gaze drift toward the staging area where the remaining fighters waited. Rival faces met his — some smirking, some indifferent, some quietly assessing.
His eyes lingered on one in particular — a tall youth clad in white, a silver insignia gleaming on his chest. Qi Condensation, Late Stage. Known for the technique Thousand Falling Petals, which could turn a single sword stroke into a storm of cuts.
Edran exhaled slowly, feeling the faint stirrings in his core — the dormant pulse of his Dragon Vein, the quiet rhythm of the Azure Dragon Breathing Art. He could feel his qi flowing sharper, cleaner than before, a sign that his recent breakthrough to Qi Condensation, Mid Stage had settled well.
The announcer's voice thundered again, calling the next match. Somewhere deep inside, Edran knew his turn was coming — and when it did, there would be no holding back.