"Kyle?"
He glanced up. Nuna stepped into the room, her short blue hair loosened from the braid she usually wore during the day. She approached quietly, her eyes narrowing in curiosity as she leaned over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly, placing a quick kiss on his lips.
Kyle smiled, setting the quill down. "I've decided to start writing novels."
"Novels?" Nuna repeated, startled. "You've never shown any interest in writing before. Why now?"
"I had a bout of inspiration," Kyle answered simply, his eyes shining with quiet determination. "Sometimes, ideas strike, and you just have to chase them."
Nuna looked at him for a long moment, surprise written across her delicate features. Then, with a faint laugh, she shook her head. "You never cease to surprise me."
She walked toward the wardrobe, slipping into her nightwear with practiced ease. The soft fabric draped over her frame as she glanced back at him. "Are you coming to bed?"
"Soon," Kyle said, lifting his quill again. "Just let me finish this chapter."
Nuna gave him a knowing smile, her voice tinged with warmth. "Don't stay up too late." She slid beneath the sheets, lying on her side while watching him. Her eyes softened as she whispered, "You're always chasing something, Kyle. I just hope this one doesn't run you ragged."
Kyle didn't respond immediately. He was already back at work, the story flowing from his mind. But his heart felt strangely light, knowing that even as he pursued this stolen inspiration, Nuna was there, waiting for him in the quiet glow of the lamplight.
The quill finally stilled. Kyle leaned back, flexing his stiff fingers as he studied the stack of parchment before him. The first act of Romeo and Juliet, completed. His handwriting wasn't flawless, but the words carried weight, weaving the tale together piece by piece.
A deep breath escaped his chest. Satisfaction washed over him, not unlike the feeling after a hard-fought spar. This is only the beginning… but it's a start.
Blowing gently across the ink to dry the last lines, he placed the quill down and tidied the desk. The lamp still glowed softly, its golden light casting long shadows against the chamber walls.
Kyle changed into his nightwear, his body weary from both sparring earlier in the day and the hours of writing that had followed. When he finally slipped beneath the sheets, Nuna stirred beside him. She turned, her eyes still half-lidded with drowsiness, and a warm smile blossomed across her lips as she felt his weight sink into the bed.
Without words, Kyle shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her. Her warmth seeped into him instantly, easing away the tension that clung to his shoulders.
"Finally decided to join me," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with playful affection.
Kyle chuckled lowly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, Nuna."
Her smile deepened, and she nestled against him, her breath brushing softly against his chest. "Goodnight, Kyle."
.....
The roar of the crowds shook the high stone walls of the Coliseum, a sound almost like crashing waves. Bright-colored banners flapped in the wind, dust stirred beneath thousands of stomping feet, and the scent of sweat, roasted meat, and excitement filled the warm air.
Serena, Dalia, and thousands of others gazed up as torches lined the rim of the arena, each flame dancing in the dusk light. Somewhere in the sky, closing in fast, came the first of the sect processions.
An enormous wooden frame rose high in the center of the Coliseum, draped in red and gold velvet. A ladder of lanterns clung to its poles, swaying slightly in the wind. Atop it stood a tall dais, and on that dais stood an ornate throne of polished bronze and carved jade. The announcer, her voice amplified by magic-wrought horns, rang out across the sands.
"People of the capital! Guests from distant regions! Warriors, cultivators, spectators of all ages! Welcome to the Grand Martial Tournament of Starfall!" Her voice shot like arrows into the crowd, loud, clear, eager to stir hearts. She raised her arms. "I am Annalise Farwood, your Master of Ceremonies this eve! Prepare yourselves for spectacle, for feats of unmatched strength, will, and glory!"
The crowd responded with a thunder of cheers. Many stood, leaning forward on the edge of seats, shouting names, waving scarves, banners, calling out sects they hoped would appear. Gambling dens already flickered to life: whispers of bets, coins changing hands. Who would survive the first round? Who would earn the most in reputation? Bets on the Twin Flames, Roaring Wind, Blind Seer, all locked in.
Rowan's heart pounded in his chest. The air seemed richer here, charged with power. He looked at his sister, Leora, hands clasped together, eyes shining.
"Do you see them yet?" he asked, voice barely above the roar.
Leora squinted at the horizon. "Not yet. But the smaller sects are already on their way. I heard the Twin Flames arrived before dawn. Their crimson robes, people said they glow when they move."
Rowan nodded. He felt the weight of expectation; his family had sent him with hopes. If he performed well, maybe he could earn something, maybe even get scouted by a reputable sect.
Back on the dais, Annalise raised her voice higher. "Let me introduce first the minor sects already assembled in the VIP boxes: the Twin Flames Sect, masters of dual-fire techniques—see their red-and-gold banners! The Roaring Wind Sect, swift as a gale, their disciples practicing lightning-quick blade moves. And the mysterious Blind Seer Sect, known for foresight in cultivation, and whose elders claim they can sense Qi patterns no one else sees!"
She paused for emphasis, letting the crowd erupt in applause and cheers for each. Tiers of boxes filled with sect members, young disciples in uniform, and elders in ornate robes, all standing to be seen.
"Also present: Ashen Lotus Pavilion, Moonlight Serpent Order, Silver Crest Guild, the Ironwood Hall, and the Cerulean Mist Assembly!"
Spectators craned their necks. Serena squeezed Dalia's hand.
"Moonlight Serpent Order, I've watched them," Dalia said, voice low. "Their spear technique is beautiful. Sadistic, maybe, but beautiful."
Rowan, overhearing, turned. A grizzled man near him, leaning on a staff, replied: "Beautiful doesn't win tournaments. I want raw power. That's what the Divine Lion shows when they arrive."
Outside, gates opened with a thunderous clap. Dust roiled as groups of cultivators and disciples streamed in. Some were simple folk, dressed plainly, their arms loaded with gear. Others bore strange weapons: curved blades, dainty daggers, and staffs with gems. Some followed beasts of burden; others had small flying beasts tethered, wings folded now, but long tails flicking.
Then the great silence fell for a moment. It came first as a hush, then as a collective intake of breath, as the first major sect made its entrance.
From the eastern gate, a prodigious lion, larger than any natural beast, its mane a roiling golden blaze, its paws sending clouds of dust forward, strode in. Upon its broad back, elders and disciples of the Divine Lion Sect stood, robes billowing. Lanterns dangling from the framework anchored to the lion's saddle glowed. The beast's eyes were fierce and bright, almost alive with light.
As it entered, trumpets sounded. The crowd Ooohed and Aaahed. The lion let out a roar that echoed across the Coliseum like a clap of thunder.
Countess Mirande leaned forward, one hand on the marble railing, her heart fluttering. She was proud. House Blackthorn had sent their banner bearer beside the Divine Lion, though not as an affiliated sect. Blackthorn's coat of arms, a black thorned rose on silver, fluttered in the wind from their box.
"By the stars, look at that creature," she murmured to the noble next to her, a young baron. "Magnificent. To command such a beast, to ride into battle upon its back… it is the kind of strength that sings."
The baron nodded, anxious. "But strength isn't all. If they're so great, why don't they ever dominate absolutely? Even Divine Lion has lost tournaments before. Competition stiffens every year."
Mirande's eyes narrowed with thought. She sipped her wine, letting the noise roll over her. "Because even strength has limits. But tonight, their display will sway many hearts. Patrons, betters, those seeking alliances… it matters."
Back to Annalise's booming voice: "Yes, ladies and gentlemen, behold the arrival of the Divine Lion Sect, masters of martial form and raw power! Their fame precedes them in every province!"
Cheers again, whistles, stamping of feet.
"And now, a momentous arrival from House Blackthorn!" She gestured flamboyantly. Two carriages rolled in, escorted by Blackthorn knights with glinting armor. A contingent of soldiers, a retinue of servants, and then banners. House Blackthorn was ancient but loyal; their achievements from the War of Reclamation etched in scrolls, their ancestors fighting shoulder to shoulder with the current Emperor in the battle that restored the throne. Countess Mirande and her younger brother, Lord Corin, appeared; the crowd bowed heads as they passed.
"They fought in the ancient war that saw the Emperor crowned!" Annalise shouted. "They earned the noble title of Count for their valor and have remained prominent ever since. House Blackthorn, keepers of peace at the border lands, patrons of artisans, sponsors of young cultivators, may your legacy shine this night!"
A wave of applause and some cheers, though mixed with envy. Some in the crowd whispered, "They had luck. They always do.""Count? Yes, but what of real cultivators, not just noble blood?"
Rowan spoke, eyebrows raised. "House Blackthorn… their soldiers are good, but their cultivation isn't always top tier, from what I've seen."
Leora shook her head. "Maybe. But they ride with glory, and that matters in tournaments. People notice spectacle."
More sects arrived then: the Obsidian Drake Sect with their flying drakes gliding over the arena as escort wings; the Silver Sparrow Pavilion with archers high in the sky, balancing on suspended beams in flying platforms that let them drift like birds; the Eclipsed Moon Sect, whose disciples progressed silently, masked, veiled, whispered rumors say they cultivate shadows.
Each new arrival brought renewed cheers. Bets intensified. Shouts of "Divine Lion! Divine Lion!" rose and fell as the creature passed the gates. The Twin Flames Sect disciples waved red-dyed sashes; the Roaring Wind's fans snapped in the wind; Blind Seer elders swept past with canes topped with celestial stones, murmuring quietly.
Annalise's voice again, riding the sound waves magically to every ear, boomed: "From distant Mount Varyn, the Twin Flames Sect! From the southern cliffs, the Roaring Wind! From the hidden groves, the Blind Seer! Observe the Obsidian Drake, the Silver Sparrow, the Eclipsed Moon, and more! But none shine yet as the Divine Lion, let them take their place among the stars tonight!"
A drum sounded in the distance, long, slow. The Lion stopped in the center of the Coliseum, the crowd falling into hushed awe as the elders dismounted. Golden dust drifted around their feet. The disciples' attendants knelt, raised hands in salute.
Old Soren, in his seat near the outer ring, rubbed his chin. He had seen many tournaments, many sects rise and fall. He studied the Divine Lion with a critical eye.
"Yes, they have shown," he whispered to no one in particular. "Show is cheap if it does not stand in combat. I have known Divine Lion fighters, strong, yes, but I find their stamina lacking when the battle drags on. It's easier to look good in a parade than to stare down the grit in the ring."
Beside him, a younger cultivator scoffed: "But show matters. Sponsors, recognition, it lifts you even if you do not win. Tonight, many will judge reputation first, strength second."
Soren just grunted, shifting his cloak. He lifted his gaze to the sky, watching where more banners drifted in, the coming of yet more major sects: vows of spectacular entrances, treasures in flight, beasts roaring. He thought: Let them come. Let them show their best. True strength will speak.
Back in the center dais, Annalise raised both arms, guiding everyone's gaze. Torches flared as if in response.
"Now, honored guests, prepare yourselves for what is to come! The tournament's first round will begin at dawn's first bell. Participants, be ready! Spectators, rest your voices, though I suspect many of you will scream again and again! Place your bets, fortune favors the bold, but remember, tonight, the glory belongs to those who dare!"
The crowd erupted once more, a wave of yells and stamping feet. Gold coins changed hands in darkened corners. Friends turned to friends awaiting predictions. The Divine Lion elders whispered among themselves, disciples aligning, weapons being polished in the moonlight.
Serena felt her palms grow sweaty. Dalia's voice was quiet but fierce: "Every moment counts. We must train tonight, visualize every move."
High overhead, the moon crept upward, pale silver. Beneath it, torches blazed, banners snapped, voices rose, and the Coliseum stood wide, vast, ready, for combat, for glory, for legends to be born.
And in that charged night, the stage was set. The minor sects had shown their colours; the first major sect, Divine Lion, had made their grand entrance. House Blackthorn had taken their place among the dignitaries. But the true test lay ahead: who among the many, fierce and ambitious, would rise once the first bell tolled?
The crowd did not know yet which names would be shouted in victory, but every heart beat in anticipation.