Daemion wiped the blood from his nose with his free hand. It streaked across his knuckles, dark against the sand. Slowly; deliberately; he straightened, muscles trembling, lungs still burning. Then he lifted the broken piece of his sword high into the air.
"VICTOOOOORY!"
The roar that followed was not mere sound. It shook stone, sky, and destiny itself. The arena trembled beneath thousands of stamping feet. Banners snapped wildly as if the wind itself had been summoned by the cry.
Daemion turned toward Arthur.
For a heartbeat, the world felt smaller.
He bowed deeply.
"Thank you, sensi… for making me strong."
Arthur raised his arm, resting it briefly above Daemion's head, fingers open in blessing. His eyes softened: proud, weary, fulfilled.
"You did well," Arthur said quietly. "You have… even surpassed me."
A faint smile touched his lips.
Then he turned away.
The great arena door began to open, slow and heavy, stone grinding against stone. As Arthur walked toward it, something extraordinary happened; the entire arena stood.
Thousands of people pressed their hands to their chests and spoke as one, voices echoing like a sacred chant.
"The hero of Greyvale.
The protector of our kingdom…"
Arthur did not look back.
The door shut behind him.
Silence followed; thick, reverent; before the arena erupted again.
Daemion moved through the sands, lifting the broken sword in one hand, retrieving his other blade from where it lay half-buried. The Arena Master stepped forward, voice amplified by magic and awe.
"The prince has proven himself! Behold; the future protector of our kingdom!"
The King rose from his throne. His presence alone stilled the crowd.
"People of Greyvale," he said, his voice firm and proud, "today, you did not merely witness combat. You witnessed resolve, discipline, and heart. My son has bled for this land. May his strength one day shield every soul within these walls."
Thunderous applause followed.
Nearby, Thalia leaned forward, eyes shining.
"Did you see how the prince fought? He was amazing."
"Yes," Frauner agreed, nodding. "Real skill."
Mauris hummed his approval.
Leah said nothing.
Hentry smirked. "Yeah, we saw how to look at him," he said, mockingly resting his hand on his chin in a poor imitation of Thalia. She shoved him without looking.
Daemion bowed once more to the King, then straightened.
"Majesty… I have a request."
The King regarded him carefully. "Yes, warrior."
"I wish to give young warriors a chance," Daemion said. His voice carried clearly. "Let this arena be open. If anyone wishes to prove themselves, let them spar with me; here, in this sanctum of steel."
The crowd stirred. Whispers rippled outward like waves.
Leah's heartbeat quickened.
Should I… or not?
Her fingers clenched.
Not today, she told herself. Today is my brother's day.
Her breathing steadied.
The King raised his hand, thoughtful. At last, he nodded.
"Your wish is granted."
Daemion stepped into the center of the arena.
"Young warriors of Greyvale," he called, voice sharp with adrenaline.
"In this sanctum of steel; are your blades, spears, and bows ready to taste glory? Come. Show your might. Let the gods decide your fate!"
The arena fell silent.
He turned in a slow circle, scanning faces.
"Is there anyone who dares to fight?"
Another turn.
"I dare you; young warriors."
Silence.
His shoulders sagged slightly. "No one?"
A blade flew.
It struck the ground before him with a violent clang, vibrating, humming with intent.
Daemion snapped his head toward it.
A figure leapt from the balcony above; descending fast, fearless. Sunlight shattered against polished armor as the body fell. The crowd gasped.
Daemion smiled.
The figure landed hard. Sand exploded outward in a ring.
It was the princess.
Steel greeted her. She armored herself with practiced ease: forearm guards, knee plates, a light chest piece, a layered skirt of steel, firm boots. Her hair was tied back, tight and ready. She drew her sword. The blade sang. One perfect motion. Then stillness.
She lifted the sword and pointed it at the prince.
"I dare to spar with you."
Whispers surged.
"It's the princess!"
"Look; the princess!"
Frauner, Mauris, and Thalia stared wide-eyed. The King's jaw tightened; disappointment flickering across his face.
Daemion turned slowly, then laughed softly.
"I accept your challenge."
He faced the King.
"Majesty… grant me permission to spar with my sister."
The King hesitated; then nodded.
"People of Greyvale. A mighty challenge between blood. A victor of the arena versus a young woman seeking her proof. Let the gods decide."
" Whoever landed the first strike will be the victor"
Crowd erupted with excitement.
Daemian and Leah nodded their head.
The Queen rose, eyes full of worry, and traced the air. Invisible armor shimmered into place around them.
"Let the battle begin!"
The arena erupted.
Daemion tossed the broken blade aside. It spun once and buried itself in the sand. He casually gripped his sword, relaxed yet ready.
Leah stood poised; blade in her right hand, arm extended back. Her left arm bent before her body. Left leg forward, right leg straight.
Then she dashed.
The first strike of a new battle was born.