The coliseum did not keep silence.
It imposed it.
The constant murmur of thousands of voices seeped through every crack in the stone, like a contained sea threatening to overflow. From the center of the arena, Aren felt that sound as an invisible pressure against his chest, a presence that watched, judged, and waited.
The aspirants were lined up in wide rows, separated by orders and origins. There were no personal banners, no names announced yet. Only tense bodies and eyes fixed forward.
From the inner stands, hidden behind stone railings and discreet canopies, the knights observed.
They did not speak loudly.
They did not react.
But Aren felt their eyes like blades running over him.
"That one has a good foundation, but nerves betray him," a deep voice murmured from above.
"Strength without control," another replied dryly. "He will break soon."
"The dwarf seems to have more endurance than he looks like…"
"And the human in the center? The one who trained with Kaelreth?"
Aren did not hear the exact words, but he felt their weight. They were not there to encourage them. They were there to decide who deserved to keep breathing as an aspirant… and who did not.
A roll of drums echoed, deep and ceremonial.
The crowd responded with restrained applause.
In the main box, the current prince stood up. He wore elegant clothing in dark tones with golden embroidery, and his smile was flawless, practiced for the occasion. Around him, advisers and high-ranking clergy maintained rigid postures.
Lylia was seated in her box. Despite being the newest candidate, her presence and shared blessing drew the attention of the public even more than the event itself.
She maintained the posture she had been taught.
Back straight. Hands together. Calm gaze.
Breaking protocol, the prince stood and walked toward the shared box of Alfaro and Zoren.
With a slight gesture, the paladins withdrew, making a small bow.
When they were face to face, the prince inclined toward her politely, extending his hand gently.
"Candidate Lylia," he said with a kind voice, amplified by magic. "It would be an honor if you would sit beside me. As the first saint candidate born in our humble territory, your presence is important for the principality… and for our guests."
A murmur spread among the nobles.
Lylia blinked once.
She hesitated for just an instant. Long enough for him to notice. Then she nodded, with a polite smile, taking the prince's hand and standing carefully.
"Excellent. You will see that the view from this box is the best," the prince said with a wide smile. "I assure you that you will be able to see every single trial clearly."
The paladins escorting her moved in unison.
After a few moments, the prince returned to his seat. Lylia hesitated slightly before sitting beside him, in a place reserved only for rulers.
A cold discomfort ran down her spine. She felt out of place, placed somewhere different from where she truly wanted to be.
A horn sounded.
"Aspirants!" proclaimed the ceremonial voice. "The first phase of the Selection Tournament begins now."
The side gates of the coliseum opened.
From a lower platform, a group of mages raised their staffs in unison.
Slowly, the outer ring of the arena began to rise.
The stone shifted and took shape, turning into a complex circuit. Slanted walls, moving platforms, weight-bearing sections, and narrow passages where balance was everything.
Pure endurance.
"This first trial does not measure speed," the voice continued. "It will measure judgment, discipline, creativity, and perseverance. Whoever gives up… is out."
The first group advanced.
Aren watched as the first aspirants climbed with confidence… only to exhaust themselves minutes later. A young human slipped and fell badly, leaving the trial with a muffled scream. Two others gave up when they could not lift a wooden load that was too heavy.
The coliseum did not mock them.
It simply… kept watching.
"Your turn," an instructor ordered.
Aren took a deep breath and moved forward.
The first obstacle was a steep path blocked by a massive wooden beam.
The sand crunching under his boots as he advanced. The weight of the wood burned his arms, but he tried to keep a steady rhythm.
To his left, Bromir seemed unfazed. He moved quickly, showing tremendous strength.
Farther back, Lysander panted, his face red, but he did not stop, even when he could not move the wood. Hal was no better, cursing his size as he struggled with the obstacle.
Surprisingly, the one who finished that obstacle first was Aveline, who was already running toward the next section.
She had not pushed the wood.
She had gone over it.
Murmurs spread through the crowd, while the knights began to focus their attention on her.
By the time Aren cleared the path, Bromir had already passed him, and to his surprise, Lysander and Hal had joined forces to imitate Aveline's plan and climb over the wooden block.
Aren felt the fatigue building in his shoulders, but he did not give up. He remembered Kaelreth's words: thinking was a luxury he could only afford if he could fail, and right now he could not.
The obstacles kept coming, while the horn sounded from time to time, announcing the release of a new group of aspirants.
When they finally reached the last section, many aspirants had already fallen.
Some cried silently in frustration.
Others could not even remain standing.
Still, Aren did not stop. He kept moving at a steady pace, even as he watched others fall in front of him.
In the end, very few made it through, among them Aren and his companions.
There was no applause for them, only the constant evaluation from the spectators.
From above, the knights wrote notes, exchanged looks, nodded or frowned with each aspirant who completed the circuit.
However, after the final horn, a massive crash drew everyone's attention.
A cloud of dust and splinters erupted where the wooden block had once been, and bursting through it was Eryndor, moving with enviable speed and agility.
"Impressive. That elf…," one of the knights murmured. "His race has a natural talent for magic."
"Isn't he the son of the ambassador of the Silvant Empire?"
The question lingered in the air as they watched him reach the end of the circuit in record time.
Another roll of drums shook the coliseum.
"Aspirants! Gather in the center of the arena immediately!" the voice announced. "Those who abandoned the circuit will be escorted out of the arena."
No names were spoken.
They were not necessary.
Aren took a deep breath.
Above, the prince watched with renewed interest.
At his side, Lylia closed her eyes for a second and murmured a silent prayer.
Below, Aveline clenched her fist, knowing this had only been the beginning.
The tournament had truly begun.
And now… everyone was watching them.