Chapter 5
Eclipse Ground
Eclipse Ground was not an arena.
It was a scar.
The land dipped unnaturally at its center, black stone fractured and fused together as if the ground itself had once been melted and forced back into shape. Old weapon marks crisscrossed the surface—too deep, too clean to be the work of ordinary steel. Some were centuries old. Others looked fresh.
No birds flew overhead.
No wind touched the center.
Those who stepped onto the ground felt it immediately—a pressure behind the eyes, a faint tightening in the chest. As if the land was watching them arrive, measuring their worth.
Stormhold came first.
Their formation was perfect. Clean armor, measured steps, weapons polished and precise. Lyra walked at the front, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. Her presence alone drew eyes. Even among other camps, there was no mistaking her authority.
Klous followed close behind, relaxed but alert. Sofia, Emma, and Julian spread out instinctively, already assessing the terrain. Stormhold did nothing loudly—but everything deliberately.
Stonefist arrived.
The ground shook as giants crossed into the open field. Each step sent vibrations through the stone. Morrek walked calmly at their head, massive sword resting easily on his shoulder, his expression warm despite the tension. He studied Eclipse Ground with quiet respect, as if greeting an old battlefield.
Behind him, Master Vorstag surveyed the land without emotion.
"This place brings back memories," Vorstag said.
Morrek nodded. "Then we'll honor it master."
Emberveil's arrival bent the air.
Heat rolled across the ground as flames danced along weapons and armor. Laughter followed—confident, reckless. Fire flickered brighter when Emberveil stepped into the field, as if the land itself reacted to their presence.
Moonspire arrived.
One moment the edge of the field was empty. The next, shadows shifted, and figures stood where none had been before. Masks. Cloaks. Silence. Stormhold trainees stiffened without knowing why.
Ironclad Bastion followed—shields locked, armor heavy. Their formation was slow but unbreakable, each step deliberate. The sound of metal echoed long after they stopped moving.
Skyreach descended from above.
Wind tore through the field as fighters landed lightly, blades glinting. Some hovered briefly before touching down, grinning as they felt the air obey them.
Deeproot emerged from the earth.
Stone cracked and parted. Vines curled back. Beasts padded forward beside their handlers, eyes alert, ears low. The ground beneath them felt alive.
Galehaven.
A crack split the sky, followed by laughter and motion too fast to track. Static lingered in the air long after they stopped moving.
Eight camps stood on Eclipse Ground.
Then—
Silence.
Ashvale arrived last.
No banners.
No announcement.
No sound.
They stepped onto the field as if they had always been there.
Some noticed the black coats first. Others felt it—a sudden drop in temperature, a tightening in the air. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even Emberveil's flames flickered lower.
A long black coat stirred faintly.
A chipped sword rested in his right hand, its black-and-white hilt worn smooth by use.
The bell rang once.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Yet every conversation died the moment its sound spread across Eclipse Ground.
The air shifted.
At the center of the scarred land, the stone cracked—not violently, but deliberately. A circular platform rose from beneath the ground, ancient runes glowing faintly along its edges. The markings were old, older than the camps, older than Romiya itself.
A figure stepped forward.
He was neither young nor old, his presence difficult to measure. His robes were simple, dark, and unmarked by any camp sigil. When he spoke, his voice carried without effort, reaching every corner of Eclipse Ground.
"I am Instructor Caelum," he said.
"Keeper of the Eclipse."
With a slow movement of his hand, the runes ignited.
The world around them shifted.
The ground beneath the camps dissolved into light, reforming into vast illusory training grounds—Stormhold's precision halls, Ashvale's brutal fields, Stonefist's shattered plains, and the other camps in turn. Each appeared suspended in the air, rotating slowly, as if the Eclipse itself remembered them.
"These grounds," Caelum continued, "have seen every path to strength. Order. Chaos. Honor. Deceit. Endurance."
The illusions faded.
"Now," he said, "they will judge which endures."
Silence held.
"Each camp shall present two of its finest," Caelum said. "Chosen by its own leaders. Strength alone is not required. Survival is."
With a gesture, symbols flared above the platform—numbers forming, shifting.
"The First Round will consist of twelve matches."
A ripple moved through the camps.
"Of the nine camps," Caelum said evenly, "six fighters will receive byes to the next round. Each camp may choose which of their representatives receives this protection."
Some nodded.
"Alongside them," Caelum continued, "the remaining fighters will be drawn by lot." Above the platform, symbols of numbers and names appeared in shimmering air.
Others frowned.
"Those without byes," Caelum said, "will fight."
The runes changed.
"The Second Round will consist of twelve fighters. Six matches. No byes."
The illusions above shifted again—fighters colliding, falling, standing alone.
"From there," Caelum continued, "six will remain."
The air grew heavier.
"The Semifinals will not be duels."
Murmurs broke out.
"There will be two three-way battles," Caelum said. "No alliances. No mercy. Only the last fighter standing advances."
Some smiled.
Others went still.
"And the Final," Caelum said, his voice lowering slightly, "will also be three-way."The winner will rise above all. Not just as champion of the tournament—but as the Eclipse Bearer."
Whispers raced through the camps. A single individual? One fighter above all?
Caelum's eyes scanned the nine camps. "The Eclipse Bearer shall receive the Eclipse Mark. It is not a weapon, nor a trinket. It is a living amplifier, connected to your very soul. Your strength, your skill, your magic—whatever you already possess—will be magnified beyond ordinary limits. Reflexes, speed, elemental power, and force will all surge. The Mark reacts to your will, your nature, your ambition. It does not lie. It does not falter
Some captains stiffened. Some trainees swallowed hard.
"And for the camp whose champion claims victory," Caelum continued, voice steady and deep, "their reward is no less grand. For ten years, the winning camp shall hold the highest status above all others. Every decision, every decree, every resource—priority is theirs. They shall have first claim to all magical fragments, relics, and artifacts discovered within Romiya. Weapons, armor, and tools of power shall be theirs before any other camp. Their banners will fly across the empire, their fame unrivaled. Apprentices will flock to their gates, and rivals will bow in caution and respect."
Beneath the platform, faint markings glimmered across the cracked stone.
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