The sky trembled that day.
Clouds rolled like a furious white sea, while sunlight broke through the cracks, casting golden gleams across the horizon.
Beneath the gentle rumble of celestial wind, The Ancient One stood upon the highest cliff of the world's clouds—his towering body radiant, his wings of Garuda unfurled so wide they covered half the heavens.
The President of the United States gazed from below, flanked by his guards and the entirety of humankind who watched in silence.
All eyes turned upward—to that winged being who now appeared as a creator god from forgotten myths.
The Ancient One raised his hand. His golden claws carved through the air, leaving trails of light that swirled like the breath of the sun itself.
The voice that emerged from his chest was not mere speech,
but the utterance of nature itself.
> "If the old world can no longer hold the will of two races,
then let the sky bear witness to the birth of a new one."
The clouds beneath him shuddered and twisted into a storm of blinding white.
From that vortex, land began to form—not ordinary soil,
but a colossal expanse of stone, light, and pure energy.
Mountains rose at its edges, and pillars of impossible height reached the heavens,
like the supports of paradise itself.
At its heart, a Great Colosseum took shape—so vast that its shadow stretched across the clouds for thousands of miles.
Its golden walls shimmered with marble veins and carvings of beings from both realms:
dragons, humans, elves, machines, and spirits.
The central arena sprawled wide as a desert in heaven,
capable of holding armies beyond count.
Thunder rolled in the distance—not the sound of nature,
but the resonance of magic and manmade power intertwined.
A faintly glowing transparent dome formed above the arena,
a barrier between champions and the watching multitudes.
From the newborn earth rose grandstands encircling the Colosseum:
on one side sat thousands of humans,
wearing uniforms marked by the emblems of their nations—
and on the other, mythical beings of every kind:
tiny dragons, centaurs, elves, trolls, and water spirits,
all seated side by side.
Their voices merged into a single overwhelming roar—
a storm of festivity and anticipation.
At the farthest peak of the arena, between two towering pillars of light,
two thrones materialized.
To the west—crafted of black metal fused with steel and light fibers—
stood the Throne of Technology, seat of the President.
Behind him fluttered a holographic banner of the world,
the symbol of mankind whose fate now hung by a thread of honor.
To the east—rising above a golden crystal pillar,
engraved with suns and wings—
stood the Solar Throne, belonging to The Ancient One.
When he sat upon it, his wings stretched into the heavens,
casting a vast shadow that veiled the sun itself—
as though even the sky bowed in reverence.
The heavens rumbled,
and the wind turned into a sacred hymn never before heard by mortal ears.
The Ancient One lifted his hand once more.
From his golden claws, light ignited a massive symbol in the air—
two interlocking circles, the mark of balance,
representing mankind and mythology intertwined.
> "This," he proclaimed, voice echoing like thunder through eternity,
"is the stage that will decide our fate—
where blood shall become covenant, and honor the only law."
The President rose from his throne, gazing upon the grand arena that floated among the clouds.
His words, soft yet unwavering, carried across the boundless sky:
> "Then let the sun bear witness—
let strength and justice speak, not for hatred… but for the future."
The heavens quaked, light flared,
and every being—human and mythical alike—roared as one.
The sky shone like eternal day.
Thus was born The Arena of Two Worlds—
the place where a new history would be written,
and where the right to rule sky and earth would be decided.
---
THE ARRIVAL OF VIRGO
The once-bright sky dimmed.
Shadows gathered between the rolling clouds beneath the colossal Colosseum.
The sunlight that once bathed the golden walls now softened,
as if the cosmos itself held its breath, awaiting something divine.
A cool wind swept through, soothing the warmth of the newborn stone.
Dry leaves—whose origin no one could tell—danced in the air,
then stilled as a streak of violet light tore across the heavens.
From it, she descended.
Virgo — the Arbiter from the Stars.
Her form glowed softly, like moonlight upon a still ocean.
Her hair flowed down to her ankles,
a cascade of violet silk woven with golden ornaments—
stars, crescent moons, and fragments of living night.
In her left hand, she held a small golden scale,
its gentle sway casting warm radiance upon the darkened clouds.
Each step she took left trails of silver light upon the stone.
Her gaze was calm—neither cold nor warm—
yet filled with an ancient knowing,
as though she had seen every lie and truth ever spoken.
The Ancient One bowed his head slightly,
while the President could only watch—awed and trembling.
Even the mightiest of mythical beings—
dragons, minotaurs, elves, and fire fae—
stood silent, compelled to reverence without command