"How about a glass of wine?"
"Sounds good. It's been a while since we've had something strong enough to knock our heads sideways."
The Draken Ducal House—usually wrapped in a blanket of cold northern winds—buzzed with an unusual warmth today. Not from the weather, but from excitement.
Even the Colosseum, typically quiet save for the occasional duel or training match, was now alive with noise and movement. Laughter echoed through the stone stands, and vendors shouted over the crowd, peddling roasted meat, fresh bread, and strong spirits.
Today wasn't just any day.
It was the day of the Grand Northern Martial Tournament—the biggest event held in the North. A day when warriors, nobles, and commoners alike gathered under one sky to witness strength, skill, and blood.
Standing atop a balcony that overlooked the massive arena below, Duke Draken watched the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction. His fur cloak flapped gently in the breeze, and his expression was one of pride.
