---

The road was still a bit of an unfamiliar sensation underneath the tall white figure's boots as she finally arrived at her destination. And just like before, when a knight looking up at asked for a name, he showed...well. There was a bit of surprise and confusion evident. And curiosity too. But what there wasn't was the dread, and hatred, and disgust that she'd so expected. Which she'd received close to none of on the walk through the city as well, and now the crowd clustered around. Oh, there were a few; people who so thoughtfully provided her with what she'd known was coming; the stares, the glares, the whispers. And yet somehow, despite the nigh-paper white skin, the long hair that nearly glowed such was its stark pallor, and the narrow red eyes...it all felt so normal.

Though, admittedly, her frame of reference was somewhat limited.

"Lucien Navietas." The name felt strange in her mouth. There was an instinctual draw to use her true name instead, but she ignored it as best she could.

Hailing from? "The city Grayle." This voice was okay, right? A little flat affect and it worked? It sounded okay, but who could be sure, really? Not her, certainly. Ah, and from which part of the city? "Along the eastern wall." A small sound of confirmation as he realized that this applicant was a noble.

Family background and rank? "Second son—" Oh gods that felt strange! "of Asceron Navietas. Honorable Lucien." It had all been easy thus far. She just needed to remember this stuff and to not call herself Lady Luen and she'd be fine.

Then came the question she'd expected to encounter sooner or later, if not right away: why did she look like this? She gave what she hoped was a disarming smile without being too feminine of one. "I'm not sure, Ser. I was born like this." And that was all she needed to say, right? No more? And indeed, it seemed there would be no more. She was waved through with a minimum of effort. That was easier than she'd though. Maybe it was because she was from an established (if somewhat obscure) family?

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that, despite her fears she'd be immediately recognized and sent home in laughter and shame...she'd made it through.

And so, head held high, she strode forward, doing her best to exude confidence despite the confusion she felt. Odd looks, certainly; but that was to be expected; her height had a brilliant white dot moving clearly through the crowd around her. But the vast majority just...didn't care. A few moments passed as she threaded through the people before she finally took up a position around the arena. Upon seeing it, her heart began to race. She'd made it in despite her fears, it was true. But that was just the first step. Now she needed to stay in. She twisted her bracer around her arm as her she took a deep breath. She could do this. She just had to keep telling herself that. That she could do this. Despite the misfortune she carried like a cross about her neck...she could at least do this. She just had to keep telling herself that. That she could succeed. That she belonged here.

That whoever stepped into the arena with her would be a fool if they took Luenciel—Lucien—Navietas lightly.

---

It was warm in the City of Grayle.

The fifteen-year-old sighed as he stood, hands buried in his pockets as he looked all around him. Elidthianis Hawke had come from The Aerie, not the first of his visits to Grayle but of those he could count on one hand.

The journey had been one of duplicitous debate, and people continued to criticize him in many forums. The son of a marquess, and second-in-line to inherit, but also fated with the gifts of both aura and that of the Absolute, there had been a hefty weight attached to Eli’s ankle on what seemed like forever. It had only been six years since his hair turned white as snow and his powers revealed themselves at the worst time possible. If you asked him, those languishing six years felt like six hundred.

To be the Absolute and reject the Sages. To be the heir to the Marquess of the North and refuse responsibility. To be an Aura user and despise the idea of destiny. They were all unlikely and unpopular choices, but to have them all simultaneously? It was unheard of. That said, there had been one favorable decision Eli had made that those who looked down upon him with envy and shame to think positively of his future. He had wished to become a knight. As much as he didn’t think much of fate or destiny or even responsibility, Eli seemed to be walking the path of a would-be hero with the chagrin to defend the realm. In reality, Eli’s intentions were however less noble. The reason Eli wished to become a knight was not out of some devotion to Grayle or honorable devotion, it was merely a means to an end. The best fighters in Grayle were knights. The best masters of the weapon arts were knights. On top of that, being a knight would allow him the independence to do as he wanted instead of being bullied by the sages or his father’s court.

It would allow him to be himself.

“My name is Elidthianis Hawke. I am from The Aerie, of the Silvercrest Mountain Vale, second son of Gandimere Hawke and Rimillie Edenbridge, and I wish to become a knight.”

The words still echoed in his mind. The questions in applying himself were all a formality. While he would’ve liked his skill with a blade to determine his place among the knighthood, he knew that there was no possibility he would not become one. The prestige of his house on top of his role as this generation’s Absolute ascertained that he would be and it ascertained that people would try to manipulate him to their whims. He knew this clearly, despite his disinterest in book learning he was quite adept with people and understanding their intentions. He wasn’t an idiot or a fool, so he knew he would have to keep his wits sharpened and eyes open when deciding to move forward with his goals to master the blade and fight great fights.

Still, he was nervous and ridden with the anxiety of anticipation.

Most of all, he was smiling.

---

Some children are born with burdens heaved onto their shoulders. Nathaniel Lothwren was one of these children. Born under a falling star, those who knew of the child expected greatness from him. They practically demanded it. And while some might shirk such a burden to seek their own fate, Nathaniel relished in carrying it. He had never seen the King’s Bridge before, nor the castle it led to. It lived up to his expectations. He was but one in a swarming crowd of children pushing along, hoping to register and become a knight-in-training. The weight of expectations was heavy, but the bridge seemed capable of withstanding it.

"I feel sorry for whoever is matched against you. There's no way they stand a chance."

Nathaniel Lothwren, sporting a tunic of red and silver to match his house colors, raised an eyebrow as he turned his gaze to the kid next to him. It took a moment for the noble's eyes to fill with recognition. Nate gave a small smile, wrapping an arm around the blonde boy to give his broad shoulder a pat. "I appreciate your confidence, Locke, but I don't intend to show off. Everyone here is willing to serve, and they deserve a fair shot to show their dedication."

Locke rolled his eyes, observing the crowd gathered. "Still going on about that Honor crap, Nate?"

"It's not crap." Nate's smile faded into a slight frown, the murmurs nearby silenced by the sudden exclamation. Locke was born into a family of artisans, seeking to improve his own station through dedicated service. He was quick and strong, and had solid form. The only thing Locke lacked was a sense of true duty. Nate didn't understand his former classmate when they studied the sword at a school in the south just a few months prior.

"It's us or them, mate. You have to fight to win."

Nate shook his head. "Of course you fight to win... but it’s not about us or them. Not yet. It's about potential and skill in these duels, Locke. Us or them is an excuse to stand on the shoulders of others."

Nate's former classmate just sighed, stepping forward in the line to register. Nathaniel was silent, taking deep breaths to stifle the smallest embers of anger. Locke was just here to earn himself a better life. Nate was here to become a knight... a hero, as his mother always insisted. But deep down, Nate knew he was here because right here was all he ever wanted to be. After a moment, Locke had registered and began making his way towards the arena. Nate stepped forward.

"Name?"

"Nathaniel of the House of Lothwren, first born son to Baron Aster Lothwren of the town of Brimsly." The boy stood firm, with his back straight and his chest out, as he checked in. His words rang with a proudness and purpose that was not at all unfamiliar to those who knew him.

After all, he was going to be a knight.

He never really had a choice.

---

“It’s short for Donathon.”

“Then why don’t you go by ‘Don’?”

“Yeah it’s foreign, innit? In Valefor it means, uh, ‘Daemon Puncher’. You know, based on the legend of the Daemon Puncher.”

“You’re from Valefor?”

“Do I look like I’m from Valefor?”

“You look like a girl.”

“Sayin’ they don’t have girls in Valefor?”

The knight sighed like he hoped it would be the last time he drew breath, and then scratched ‘Donathon Bigyarn’ into his ledger. “Go. In.” he said, tired eyes angry and pointedly staring away from her. “Fuck off.”

“Yeah.”

Dot waited until the registration desk was behind her to pull back her hood. She’d dirtied her hair enough to push it from gray to near-black, and while she’d worried at first that it being so long might be an issue, the more she looked around, the more noble boys she saw with locks well down their own backs. It baffled her that the knight had almost pegged her for a girl—half these bastards were prettier than she was.

The whole city was like that, she’d noticed. Pretty as could be, gleaming with ivory towers and artful bridges as far as the eye could see. Below, the rushing river and distant falls leant a pleasant hum to air, and the weather here was fairer than any she could remember traveling Alexandria.

So it was fitting then that on her way to the arena she had crossed through the less aesthetically pleasing portions, and seen a glimpse of the grimy, dilapidated slums propping up that shining façade. A perfect reflection of the noble boys around her; a pretty face and a waterfall of confidence to hide their true natures. A mask of humanity.

She hoped she’d get to beat a few cracks into it, before the day was done.

As she made her way towards the arena, to join the ranks of other aspirants, her eyes wandered to them. For the moment she was anonymous, and though she didn’t expect that to last past the preliminaries, that was as far as she needed it to go. Had she walked in here waving her summons, and announced herself as the Heir of Light, she wasn’t certain they’d have even let her compete. And if they had, whoever they paired her off with would either have been too afraid to put up a real fight, or worse, they might have thrown some hapless lowborn at her, in the hopes she’d make a show of it for the audience.

Well, fuck that. If she was going to subject herself to these people, then she was going to do it on her own terms. They could have Dot Mummer when she was done. For now, they got Donathon Bigyarn, who was not from Valefor.

---

A mix of emotions had been welling up inside the foreigner for quite a bit now. Zenshin was still surprised with himself that he had decided to uproot his life and follow his dream. Despite leaving without trace in pursuit of his goal, the boy couldn’t help but feel guilty for disappearing. It wasn’t as though this would be the first time he has let his family down. The discourse within was akin to that of a raging storm. These were the thoughts that flooded Zen’s head as he crossed the kings bridge.

As Zenshin approached his destination he could feel the anxiety settling in. Unsure of whether or not he made the right choice he was restless to see what the future held beyond this day. He had been tirelessly training for years on end, honing the gift of wielding snow magic. A rather rare phenomenon, he would be the first in his bloodline to possess 3 elements. A shaky smile formed on his face as he walked up to the knight who had been admitting participants into the arena. The man already seemed annoyed, go figure. He took one glance at Zenshin before dully going through his questioning.

"Name?"

"Z-Zenshin Ferros"

"Hailing from?"

"V-Valefor, Western Border"

A notable sigh came from the man as if giving the young foreigner the time of day was a waste of his time.

"Family Background?"

""Uhh..Ferros Family of Alchemists, we actually are a family that bre-"

"You can move along now" the man said cutting him off coldly.

"Oh...Okay"

Zenshin's body felt warm out of embarrassment as he moved along, perhaps he had a long day already? Nonetheless this feeling passed away quickly as he disappeared into the crowd of participants. A large amount seemed to have been interested in joining the knights and they came in all shapes and sizes, a few extraordinarily sized. I wonder what they feed him, Zen thought to himself as he saw a few people standing out the crowd like trees. Others seemed extraordinarily in shape as it seemed like their clothes clung to well sculpted bodies. Safe to say Zenshin was feeling out of his element here, he was definitely taller than the average but lacked a proper frame as he was stick skinny.

It'll be okay, just focus on yourself and it will work out. the boy thought to himself as he made his way through the crowd.

---

Through the gates, into the outer courtyard, and then skirting around the inner rampart, the crowd was ushered on. Knights stood assembled around them, guiding a path around to a large square arena on the western side of the castle. Just beyond the high wall, the sound of the Barrier Falls echoed off the towers over their heads, mingling with the countless excited voices of prospects and knights alike, and rendering the whole plaza a perfectly unintelligible din.

This was the storied tournament grounds of the Sentinel Knights. On both the Northern and Southern sides were the stands -- towering stone structures with rows and rows of wooden benches, in which countless spectators had already taken up their places. And, built high in the western wall was a box for the nobles, the officers, and the royal family. Four seats in particular were pulled forward from this assemblage, and figures clad in red, gold, white, and black could respectively be seen peering intently down into the arena below.

The arena floor itself was set upon a raised dais, with a staircase leading up to it from the gate by which the prospects entered. It was further segmented by makeshift fences into four separate quadrants, each flying the flag of one of the Four Houses from one of the great marble pillars positioned at each corner.

It was a vivid spectacle. All color and life and vibrancy packed into such a small space and filled with so much sound and energy and... and...

And Julian couldn't see anything.

Hop. Just a little higher. Hop. No, still not enough. Hop. Almost made it that time! Hop. Okay come on, this was getting silly. Hop. There! And the arena floor was... still empty! Or at least, she was pretty sure it was. Maybe one more just to check? Hop. Yup, still empty.

Rumble.

Her stomach was still empty too, just in case she had somehow managed to forget that unpleasant fact. But she still had at least a couple coins left in her purse... Maybe after the fighting was over she could at least get something to tide herself over for the next few days. She just had to hold out a little longer. Sure, she'd only had a slice of bread that morning... and hadn't had anything the day before. But she had technically eaten, which was better than nothing!

She sighed. And she actually heard herself sigh, which told her that something must have been happening after all, since everybody around her had suddenly stopped talking. She hopped again -- to little avail. But the blaring trumpets that echoed through the courtyard a moment later thankfully conveyed the general gist of what was going on even to one as vertically challenged as herself, as all in attendance stood, and the cadets were ushered forward to assemble at the foot of the arena. And then, ringing through the clear morning air, punctuated by the low rumble of the Barrier Falls, an announcer began to speak.

It was a longwinded speech. There was a great deal of preamble dedicated to commemorating the noble tradition of Grayle's knighthood, the history of the Four Houses, the accomplishments of their commanders, the duties of a true knight, and the noble purpose of protecting the people of Grayle. Really, it was incredible how easily the man managed to turn so many of her favorite things into something Julian could hardly listen to without yawning. It was so belabored, in fact, that she almost didn't even notice when he finally started to explain the rules.

Matches would be split between the four arenas. They'd be one-on-one fights run four at a time. Training swords would be provided -- and no other weapons. However, those with their own weapons could use them, provided that their edges and tips were blunted and safe. Magic could even be applied -- but no offensive spells capable of inflicting lasting physical harm.

Julian nodded to herself, bobbing up and down as she did so. The pockets of her heavy mantle gave a reassuring rattle that thankfully went unnoticed over the rumbling of the waterfall and the words of the announcer. Her weapons were definitely blunt, so there was no problem there! And as for magic, well -- that just meant her odds were even better than expected! If her opponents had to fight at her level, then maybe -- just maybe -- she'd be able to drag them down and score some wins - particularly since the actual win conditions were pretty flexible. You could win by disarming the opponent, pushing them out of the arena, or landing "a decisive blow." She wasn't really sure what constituted that last one, but... Well, whacking 'em in the head a few times was pretty decisive, right?

Without any further ado, candidates began to be called forward one by one. Judging by the short and simple sound of the names being called, though, it seemed like commoners were being called up first -- a fact which seemed confirmed when she noticed that the crowd of prospects was splitting into two distinct groups, and one of them was distinctly better dressed than the other. A more intelligent person would have probably realized that since the nobles didn't have anything to prove, they were free to take this time while the commoners were struggling to even make the qualifiers to exchange greetings and start making connections with their fellow blue-bloods.

Unfortunately, all of Julian's working braincells were currently far too busy thinking of strategies to beat trained swordsmen with a pocket full of sand and a cloak full of rocks. And, wouldn't you know it, she was going to need every last one of those strategies she could muster -- because after a round or two of quick fights she was unfortunately too short to even see, she heard the name Julian Baker called. And, after taking a moment to remember that was her name, she quickly scampered her way up to the stage, wondering as she did so just what was up with the contestant called to the next arena over from her, and just who exactly named their kid Donathon.

---

And so the games began.

If one could call the first dance of the qualifiers any sort of game to begin with. Eli wasn’t particularly impressed, with his hands still buried in his pockets as he looked onward as eight commoners made their way to the arena floor.

The game was stacked against them. With the nobility guaranteed for entry in the second or third round, it allowed men to rest on their laurels as the children of peasants, craftsmen, and merchants dueled for a place in the ranks of a knight. They had everything to lose and everything to gain. In contrast to nobles who had nothing to lose and nothing to gain, it created a stark contrast that Eli noticed pretty clearly. Eli would have to remain bored while he waited his turn and the commoners were whittled down to a small number, before ultimately having their limited stamina tested by people like him who had to wait their turn due to archaic rules and principles that skewed the idea of becoming a knight a noble privilege. A sigh left his breath; it was neither particularly fair or fun.

His fellow nobles to his left and right couldn’t have possibly thought this was the proper way to showcase skills was it? Eli didn’t look at either of them, whoever they may have been, and uttered a comment that was as bored as it was annoyed.

“Doesn’t seem fair.” He mused, “They get to have fun and showcase their skills while we sit and wait our turn.”

---

Dot watched the crowd split with a grimace. The lowborns were hurried up to the arena while the noble boys sat behind, socializing; of course, it wouldn’t do to have any of their prospective knighthoods actually challenged. For most of them, she guessed, the addition of a ‘Sir’ to their name was more a matter of elevating their station than anything, and for the rest, well, maybe they just wanted the prestige. A fancy title to go with their fancy swords and armor, to flaunt to their friends at parties, while the peasant soldiery went off to die in border skirmishes for them.

She felt herself getting mad, fast. Verite had warned her about this, but it still got to her—and he’d warned her about that, too. Now wasn’t the time to let anger throw off her balance. She’d come here to knock noble shitheads on their asses. Her eyes wandered up to the western wall, to the spectator’s box that she would have sworn glittered. She tried to make out the people there, but they were a blurry amalgam of coiffed hair and jewelry.

You up there, you bastard? You one of them? she thought bitterly. Just you fucking wait.

Dot spit wallward and made her way to the stage when her alias was called, stopping by the quartermaster’s table. The selection was unsurprisingly slim; most of the nobles had likely brought their own blunted weapons, and who gave a shit what the rest used? She picked up a wooden straight sword, shocked by how poorly it was balanced, even for a waster. Would these even hold up to a metal weapon without snapping in half?

“You got anything bigger?” she asked. The knight attending looked her up and down, cocked a brow, and shrugged.

She settled for a wooden longsword, which would have been appropriately-sized for most of the participants, but for her it was practically head-height. Smaller than what she was used to, but, oh well. It was on the lighter side, but she could feel it was denser than the smaller options, and might take a couple harder hits before it snapped. Would they count it a loss if she broke her weapon on someone’s back? Depending on who her opponent was, it might have been worth finding out.

Resting it against her shoulder, she marched up onto the stage, waiting. Who was she fighting, anyway? With how the group had split, it seemed likely she’d be squaring off with some lowborn before she got a shot at the real prizes. That didn’t sit right with her. Some of these kids had no place fighting anyone, but others truly deserved knighthood; they’d trained for it, fought for it, probably sacrificed all they had just to get this far. It wouldn’t be fair at all for someone like her to squash that hope, when at the end of the day Grayle was going to take her anyway.

Fuckers.

Maybe she was worrying for nothing, though. She’d dueled plenty of people back in the Tower, and Dot was proudly certain there was no one in Grandor who was Verite’s match, legends be damned—but all the same, this was a test. Could be that the first dirt-faced boy with a sword put her on ground in half a second. Could be she’d waited all these years just to embarrass herself in front of the people she despised.

Her grip on the waster tightened. She glanced over at the arena beside her, at some blond kid getting ready for his own fight. They were about the same height, but he was stick-thin and seemed jumpy as anything; the nobles likely smelled blood in the water just looking at him. Their ranks were rife with haughty whispers and infuriating grins.

She nodded to the boy, not that she could offer him much support. But if he got through, it’d be exactly what this country deserved.

---

“Doesn’t seem fair. They get to have fun and showcase their skills while we sit and wait our turn.”

Luen gave a tiny frown as the boy next to her made...a good point, if a little misguided, she thought. She stayed looking forwards as the first fights were prepared. "You're—" She coughed as, for just one syllable, something like her normal voice leaked out before she forced it back down into the quiet, gentle near-monotone that was Lucien's. "Ehem—you're right, it's not fair, is it? It's..."

She grappled for the word she was looking for. It was like...it was like a dogfight, almost. Two people sent to fight for the amusement of the nobility. It just didn't sit right with her. Needlessly... "...Cruel. It's cruel to them, don't you—"

She turned her head, and there her train of thought stopped and her mouth dropped a little ways open. Next to her—how didn't she notice?—there was a boy, about her height, she thought? With eyes like chips of deep blue ice, and stark white hair. Almost unconsciously, she reached up and stroked a lock of her own behind her ear with an almost paper-white, near-bloodless hand. She was...more or less to surprised to really speak for the moment. She had never, ever seen anyone else with hair like hers. Well, in fairness, she hadn't seen many people to begin with. But on the way through the city to this arena, she hadn't seen a single person that had hair like hers—theirs. She knew it was part of what marked her as cursed. So despite the slightly unsettling way he thought of this whole exercise—fun?—she felt an immediate kind of kinship with him. She closed her mouth. What could she say?

"...Are you—"

A moment passed.

"—You too?"

---

“Doesn’t seem fair. They get to have fun and showcase their skills while we sit and wait our turn.”



Nathaniel’s eyes were locked on the various arenas, sizing up the competitors. At first blush, most of the competitors sent out into the field for this starting round looked like they were just picking up a training weapon for the first time. He commended them for coming here to try at all, but it was far too late. Because among the inexperienced, Nate’s eyes locked on to the rare few. Those with fire in their blood. Those who shifted the weight of their practice weapons in their hands, settling into a few trained stances. He recognized a couple, fellow students of note from the largest sword schools abroad. Some faces were unfamiliar, though.

Nate had absent-mindedly paced his way to the two strangers, not even giving them much of a look. His eyes were focused on what was to come though he still registered the words of the conversation nearby. ”It seems more calculated than cruel. They’re testing one’s will as much as their skill. They want to see who can persevere, and who among the commoners has put in the work.”

That had to be it, right? There had to be a reason. So… Nate looked for one.

Nate pointed to an average looking commoner, maybe fourteen years old and scrawny. His clothes were rugged and frayed at the edges. He was very slowly trying to swing an arming blade with his two hands bunched up together to hold it. His swings were horizontal, wild, and uncontrolled. Nate pointed to the kid. ”Take him, for example. Poor kid hasn’t had a day of training in his life. I think it would be more merciful to have him face someone potentially untrained rather than the well-trained son of a Duke for his first ever duel, don’t you think?”

Nate’s eyes drifted to a rather familiar figure, one of the larger boys. He sported a short blonde buzz cut with a fresh tunic and doublet, both lacking sleeves. He was swinging a longsword with both hands through the air quickly, cycling through a routine of trained cuts and blocks. Nate lifted an arm to point to the teen. ”Take him, for example. Cyrus Locke. He lives here in the capitol. His father is a noted locksmith for the elite, who spent most of his coin getting his son into the best sword school he could. Cyrus is as stubborn as an ox, and built like one. He’s reckless and brash… likely to get countered by any noble with a private tutor. So, he’s more likely to show off his promise against someone untrained.”

Nathaniel’s eyes shifted slightly, until they fell upon Dot’s short figure. He didn’t seem particularly impressive at first brush, but Nate clocked the way he casually rested the wooden sword on his shoulder. The sword was nearly as tall as he was, but there was a familiarity with the size of it. He simply pointed towards him. ”And some who deserve to be a cadet are unassuming. The one with light gray hair right there… he’s wielding a sword that’s almost as big as him as if it were nothing. Impressive, but it’s an impractical choice. They might be seeing if he loses steam in these early rounds.”

Nate never really turned his gaze to the other two nobles. His eyes were too busy darting between the commoners as they got to their places. He had too much data to analyze to waste time on pleasantries.

---

“Hm?”

Eli shot a glance at the boy beside him, but only just barely.

As much as he found it absolutely unfair that he had to wait several rounds to get a good warm up match, he did like the thrill of battle even if it meant watching it. Back home, in the Silvercrest Mountains, Eli had been a terrible student… when it came to learning from reading or hearing. With seeing, though? That had been his forte. His sword tutor, Algernon, a famous knight, had said that was par the course for people who had the ability to control their aura. That aside, Eli wasn’t as supremely perceptive as other knights. He tunnel visioned his fights and only seemed to read someone's movements well when he was in the thick of it in a dueling circle. From afar, with his fingers twitching in his pockets out of sheer boredom? He wouldn’t be able to really get a read on the fighters in the arena. At least, not as well as someone like the boy to his left did.

“I guess so. But they could make it seem like more of a competition.” He leaned forward, trying to get a closer view. “There’s four sections. One of them could be assigned to two nobles. I’unno. I just want to get out there.”

---

Sifting through the crowd proved a bit difficult for the thin framed boy, it also didn't help that as time passed the grounds filled with more participants. The stands even began to roar with life with every second as citizens from different backgrounds filled the stands. It was hard to stay trapped his mind as the excitement within the grounds grew. Zenshin clenched his chest as he made his way to a good viewing spot, trying to temper his own excitement, a smile even began to creep up on his face.

Zenshin made sure to get as close to the stage as possible, using his length and thinness to his advantage to fit in tight places. Once the young Valeforian was settled in with a great view of the stage, he heard trumpets sounding up showing that they would be starting soon. The announcer would then take center stage and give a speech about the noble tradition of Grayle's knighthood, a speech that many people seemed not too much interested in. Zenshin on the other hand was indulging in the experience as a whole. A wide grin, ear to ear, plastered on the boys face. This would surely be a day he would never forget.

The second part of the speech explained the rules for the duels that would take place. One-on-one fights with weapons and relatively low level offensive spells, okay...I can do that. The boy was a bit nervous that he would be center stage for everyone to see but still excited at the same time. He would be able to take the stage and put his skills on display for Grayle to see! Zenshin clenched his chest once more as he was apart of the first batch of young men to be called up.

So much for watching, guess we are diving into the deep end first.

Before stepping onto the arena, He took a moment to observe the crowd and just how many eyes were on him. He could see what he made out to be the four knight captains in attendance was well. Even the sparkling coming from nobility within the stands made his heart race. Time to make an impression he said as he prepared to take the stage.

"Select your weapon of choice before heading up"

"O-O-Oh, sorry about that!" he said with panic before taking a detour to the quartermaster's table. How could I forget that this was part swordplay. I don't even know what exact weapon to pick. Zenshin stood stood flustered as he watched as a boy with light grey hair selected the longsword way bigger than themselves, throwing it across the shoulder with ease and comfortability. Hmm, looks simple enough he thought to himself before grabbing the wooden longsword. Despite being a training sword it was his first time holding a sword in general. He was quite fascinated in how it was built as it was not what he had expected. Zen shrugged before slinging the blunt weapon over his shoulder, caught off guard by its density, Zen felt his begin to shift sideways. Soon he would feel his body crash into the weapon rack, sending all sort of wooden equipment falling to the ground. His face flushed with blood, as he quickly rose from the rack, his arm a bit tender. The arena roared with laughter and gossip at his blunder. Zen turned to the quartermaster whom had his face was in palm at the time.

"Perhaps a regular sword?"

"Yeah, I think that'll be good."

Zenshin would shortly take his place on the arena with a comparatively smaller and lighter weapon in his hands. His opponent had been waiting for him with a smug look. Keros was his name, a young lad with a shock of brunette hair atop his head stood tall with his weapon in hand, he was comparatively shorter than Zenshin standing at 5'5. He possessed a standard build, his hands a bit warn from rigorous physical labor it seemed. Keros sported patchy clothing with scuffed boots, it was easy enough to see that he wasn't of nobility.

"Lets make this quick and easy."

Zenshin didn't reply to Keros which seemed to anger him, Zenshins attention was instead fixated on the crowd of participants at the edge of the arena watching him with a shit-eating look on their faces. In their eyes, the Valeforian boy was nothing but an easy ticket into the knights. Some even heckled at the young Valeforian, pleading with Keros to switch opponents. Zenshin's confidence had quicky plummeted and his nerves took the better. The attention of the arena truly fell upon his match with comedic anticipations. Zenshin gripped his sword weakly, even a novice could see he lacked overall physical strength and training with a martial weapon. Expectations were looking pretty low for this match.

---

A spike of laughter and chiding caught Dot’s attention, and she glanced over to see another quadrant of the arena had been occupied. In it stood a Valeforian boy, tall but not particularly imposing—neither by build nor demeanor. He was wiry like the blond kid, but markedly more nervous; he held his sword like he was afraid of it, like it might decide to turn on him.

His opponent entered soon after. He was announced as Carrot, or Cheros, or something of the like, and though he was shorter than the Valeforian, he was sturdier, and completely unfazed. Eager, even.

But Dot’s eyes went to the heckling crowd, and was disappointed to see that the lion’s share of jeering came from other lowborns. In a way, she understood; not all of them would move on to fight the nobles, and those that did would probably face some sort of disadvantage or another. Getting an easy opponent early just meant that they’d save more energy for the real challenge.

But still, where was the sympathy? The camaraderie? The Solidarity? For every ounce of enjoyment they got out of the poor kid’s distress, she could be sure the nobles got a pound. What did they gain now that wouldn't be lost by the end of the day?

She made a silent wish for the Valeforian’s victory as her own opponent stepped up.

“Oh fuck’s sake…”

The boy was an inch or two taller than she was, but couldn’t have been older. He had the awkward hunch of someone growing, and a face utterly wrecked by the forces of puberty and poor hygiene. Big eyes poked out beneath a greasy mop of hair, and his mouth was pinched shut. He held his wooden short sword with both hands and still it managed to shake like the blade was made of paper.

She didn’t hear his name, but when the call to begin came, he startled and held the sword up. He wouldn’t look at her directly. Had she been found out? Dot glanced up at the spectator box with a scowl. No, couldn’t be, not already. She wouldn’t be up here with blondie and sticks if she had. This was just...well, bad luck.

Dot shrugged the sword from her shoulder and held it level. She stood up straight, legs together, feet crossed in an altered third-position, ready. Waiting.

And waiting.

Someone shouted: “Do something already!”

The boy would not move. Would not look at her. Would not stop shaking. Fuck, if this was all the opposition Grayle’s nobility faced, it was no wonder things were as bad as Verite said. What was there to be afraid of? What reason was there to change anything when no one could demand it with more than their words? It wasn’t just baffling, it was frustrating. It was maddening.

And it wasn’t his fault.

Dot sighed, dropped her stance, and really looked at her opponent. He didn’t seem happy to be here, but perhaps that was because he wasn’t prepared to be here. Just because he was afraid didn’t mean he didn’t deserve better, and beating a lesson into him wasn’t going to do him or anyone else any favors.

Shouldering her weapon again, Dot marched over to him. He startled, reeled the sword back, and his arms rattled like the last leaves on a tree, but he didn’t move. Eventually she came to stand right in front of him, and though she angled herself to look in his eyes, he still couldn’t meet her.

“Gonna swing then?” she asked. To her surprise he did, but it was half-hearted and had the carry-through power of someone half their ages. She caught it by the wooden blade, held it tight and wouldn’t let him pull it away. That got him to look at her. His were sharp green and would have been intimidating if he used them right.

With a hard yank she wrenched the sword from his hands, and he flinched, expecting a strike. Instead she tossed it out of the arena. “Gotta look’em in the eyes,” she said softly. “Don’t mean nothin’ if you can’t look the bastards in their eyes. You’ll do it next time, yeah?”

The boy nodded.

“Go on then.”

He scurried off the quadrant and back into the crowd. Once the match was called, she stepped down as well, though she kept her waster shouldered. Not exactly the start she wanted, but she hadn't come to Grayle to put the beatings on people who didn’t deserve it. A few of the other aspirants gave her odd looks, somewhere between curiosity and disappointment, but Dot focused on the other matches. Specifically on blondie and the Valeforian.

---

Julian had been hoping for easy wins. The last couple contestants hadn't seemed all that impressive -- and the match in the quadrant next to her had already ended before her opponent even reached the stage. If she could just get a pushover like that to fight too, then she wouldn't even have to resort to using any of her tools this early!

...Or so she'd thought, until she set eyes on the person who took up his place in the arena opposite her.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me. This is my opponent?"

The boy -- no, the young man across from her could easily have passed for a knight already -- in size, at least. He was a head and a half taller than Julian, and built like a brick house. He held his sword with a confident and practiced hand, his stance rigid and his grip firm.

That was as far as his resemblance to a proper knight went, however. His scruffy tunic and the tattoos adorning his bare arms, coupled with his scornful smirk as he gazed down at her with the air of a predator sizing up its prey, instead made him resemble a common thug more than anything else.

At a glance, it was hopeless. Even someone as dense as Julian could tell that there was no chance of her winning this fight. The hot anticipation coursing through her blood had suddenly chilled to an emotion that ran as cold as ice and as heavy as lead. So, in the face of this all-too-familiar feeling, she did the same thing she always did.

She smiled.

"Got a problem with that? If you're feeling scared, there's always next year to try again." She shot back, tapping her short wooden sword against the stones in front of her, then leveling it in a way that she was pretty sure looked reasonably intimidating -- or would have, if she was about a foot taller. The chorus of laughs that followed from the spectators' gallery indicated that her attempt at looking cool was... somewhat less than successful.

...Actually, judging by the look on his face, rather than intimidating him, it looked like she'd just pissed him off. He raised his sword with a scowl and began to advance, his brows tying themselves in so many knots she almost couldn't see his eyes.

Well, angry was fine, too! She could work with that. He was more likely to slip up like this, which meant that just so long as she kept her cool, she could --

"Who're you callin' scared? Me?! Of a scrawny little runt like you?! I'll wipe that smirk off your face, you little brat!"

...

......

.........What. Did. He. Just. Say?

"...A runt?" Julian murmured, her knuckles whitening as they clenched around the handle of her sword. Her opponent raised his own weapon, bringing his two-handed down with a mighty yell.

"...A runt?!" She hissed once again, stepping just far enough back that his first swing missed her. Undeterred, he lunged forward and swept the blade back up -- or tried to, only to find his footing thrown off as, with every last ounce of strength her spiteful little body could muster, Julian ducked low beneath his swing and stomped down on his toes. He recoiled in pain, stumbling from the momentum behind his own mighty swing -- and in the next instant, toppling forward completely as the blonde's knee connected directly with his groin. His roar of anger gave way to a breathless whimper, which was in turn silenced completely as, raising her wooden sword over her head, Julian brought it wildly, artlessly, but violently down with both hands.

"I'M NOT A RUNT! I'M STILL GROWING, YOU BIG!"

THWACK!

"STUPID!"

THWACK!

"OAF!"

THWACK!

...

......

.........Everything got really quiet after that. Julian slowly drew back, then took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again.

Right. She had almost forgotten. She was supposed to keep smiling. She turned to the knight in charge of her quadrant, then glanced back to the man sprawled groaning on the ground in front of her. He reached for his training sword. She smirked, and kicked it away. She looked back to the knight. He looked strangely pale all of a sudden.

"...Hey. Heeeeey. Mr. Knight? He dropped his sword. That means I won, right? Or am I supposed to keep going?" She raised her sword again, miming yet another another swing with it. The young man on the ground curled into a ball and covered his head.

"Uhh... The winner is, Julian Baker!"

"Yahoo!" She cheered, thrusting her sword up at the sky. Nobody else cheered with her.

...Well, at least it had turned out to be a pretty easy win after all. Although, come to think of it... who even was that guy? She'd completely forgotten to get his name.

Oh well! One down, however many more to go! Fortune favored the bold, and right now, Julian felt bolder than anyone! She could do this thing!

---

“I guess so. But they could make it seem like more of a competition. There’s four sections. One of them could be assigned to two nobles. I’unno. I just want to get out there.”

Nathaniel refused to let his gaze move from the arena below, and the four sections containing this first round’s first four matches. Before the action began, Eli’s words rang in his head. He wasn’t necessarily wrong. But something about Eli’s words and the tone indicated something beyond just a mere suggestion. There was an underlying compulsion and desire that Nathaniel was unable to quite parse. He hurriedly responded. ”Perhaps. I would prefer to see a more… exciting matchup in this first round than what we have..”

And almost immediately as soon as those words left his mouth, the matches began. The quickest start clearly came in the matchup between a small scrawny blonde boy and a large tattooed commoner. He ignored the banter, until the mood suddenly shifted. The larger boy charged with an overheaded swing, an incredibly foolish and unguarded manuever. Julian dodged back rather deftly, and then proceeded to treat the match like a gag. Nathaniel scoffed at the sight. ”An overheaded downward swing is good for nothing but chopping wood. He left himself open to a counter… and unfortunately, his opponent seems only skilled in cheap tricks and using a club. Not sure how well that will hold up in the coming duels.”

Nate’s eyes then shifted to a rather placid encounter between a boy shaking in his boots and Dot. He sighed in disappointment. Dot simply walked over to their combatant, speaking quietly for a moment. The boy made an attempt of a swing, the sort of wild swing a toddler might make feebly with a stick. Dot caught the blow and tossed away the weapon, successfully winning by disarming. ”That is a shame. Was interested to see what that one was capable of. Will have to wait until the next round, I suppose.”

Nate’s eyes then turned to the last two duels. He didn’t pay much attention to Cyrus Locke, who had ended his duel with a simply parry and riposte that his untrained opponent was unequipped to defend against. The boy had fallen to the ground from the blow to the gut, and the knight overseeing was merciful enough to declare a winner. Cyrus’ eyes turned to the audience, meeting Nathaniel’s among the nobles. Cyrus flashed a cocky smirk, before turning to walk off and leave his opponent to wobble his way onto his feet. Nathaniel recognized the challenge when he saw it. He could only hope to get a chance to answer it today.

Lastly, Nate’s eyes turned to the last remaining duel. The matchup seemed rather one-sided… but who knows. Maybe the Valeforian would surprise them all.

---

The other matches that were set to take place at the same time ended in quick succession. A victor being decided rather quickly within a couple moves. Looks like it was true when they said sword fights do not last long. This lead to the attention falling upon Zenshin and Kero's match, well for those who bothered to pay attention. The Arena was clad with a mix of chatter, as people talking amongst themselves about the results of the fights. Thought this didn't last long.

"RAHHHHHH!!!!!"

Keros let off a powerful cry as he charged at Zenshin with his blade held to his side and his body turned, ready to let off a power attack once in range.

His cry startled Zenshin, snapping him out of his own trance as he turned to face his opponent.Keros's from was incredibly crude, akin to that of someone who chopped trees down. He was much faster then he looked and managed to close the gap while his foe was off guard. In response the boys adrenaline began to pump, Zenshin instinctually tensed up his muscles and back peddled in order to soften the impending blow. This resulted in his guard being broken completely in the face of his opponents overwhelming strength. Zen's arms were thrown back from the recoil of the clash, nearly dropping his weapon in the process. The gap in strength was too large and the advantage was clear, this was something that both competitors realized within that first move.

Keros wasted no time following up with an overhead strike, aiming to literally crushed Zenshin with a head on attack and end the duel. In terms of physicality, Keros had the upper hand. There was no were to go, Zenshin woudld have to stand his ground and stop his foes advance or else it would all be over. He clenched his teeth as he planted his feet firmly with determination in his eyes. He had came to far just to turn back right at the gate! The Valeforian quickly extended out his free palm and begin to flex his fingers, taking aim at the arena flooring.

"Icicle field!" Zenshin cried as a ray of snow shot out from his palm and coated the surrounding area.

Keros, whom had been charging the Valeforian with a full head of steam took notice of the change in terrain but could do nothing to change course. As he took his next step he would feel his feet fly out from under him before tumbling uncontrollably past Zen. Caked in snow and ice, Keros quickly attempted to rise to his feet only to come face to face with a water ball larger than the boys head. Zenshin held his hand steady and looked down at his opponent trying his best to look intimidating.

"Please surrender" Zenshin issued in a rather polite turn which had confused his opponent. Even though, Keros had no reason to not take up his offer as he had been bested. The boy shrugged and dropped his sword in defeat, shortly after the officiator called the match between the two.

"The winner is Zenshin Ferros!"

The arena roared to life in shock, not only were they shocked with Zenshins victory but also the boy possessing rare magic to boot. Although it was snow magic, the crowd was in awe that it was in the hands of a commoner.

Once the match was over Zenshin dispelled his attack and extended his hand to help Keros up off the ground. "Guess it isn't my time yet." Keros sighed before facing Zenshin with friendly eyes. Nice move nonetheless, you really got me good. Who would've known you had snow magic up your sleeve?"The boy said before giving Zenshin a hard smack on the back. The Valeforian winced in pain before nodding his head. "I just barely managed to be honest." Zen responded humbly, his adrenaline from the fight beginning to subsiding. He began to freeze up a bit as the gaze of the arena fell upon him but the energy was a bit different, it seemed as though he managed to sway the opinion of some people in attendance today.

"I'm going to be rooting for ya, don't go losing or else you'll make me look bad, alright?" Keros said as he exited the stage.

A grin creeped up on the boys face as he followed behind shortly, he had managed to get a victory in the first round. It was sloppy but Zenshin was proud of his achievement.

"Alright!"

---

“Huh.”

And so went the first round. The interesting part, of course, was that one of the boys in the arena used an incantation right almost immediately. Though how interesting was it really?

Eli had traveled to Grayle from the north for three main reasons. The first of which being to reject fate and society by becoming a knight rather than a sage. The second, to master the blade and earn his keep. The third, and simplest one, to fight skilled opponents. Even if he was the Absolute the idea of using magical incantations ran afoul in his head. Not only did he detest incantations because of how the sage's attempted to drill them into his head, but the qualifiers were also a show of skill and tenacity. Mumbling some words the sage’s wrote down to get the better of your opponent to rob them of a place as a knight? No, that didn’t sit right with him.

Then again, he thought, if you could be bested by some cheap trick? You were probably not good enough at fighting to begin with.

“Wasn’t expecting incantations this early. Especially not from commoners.” He mused out loud, “Well, to the next round.”

---

As the heavy wooden sword swung down at the Valeforian's head like an axe, Luen sucked a quick breath of air in through her teeth in a sharp sympathy wince. The poor boy. That was going to hurt, wasn't it? She felt a ghost of a tug on her legs, an impulse from a hidden place in her mind that urged her to run out there right now and stop the oncoming blow. Or at the very least to help the poor guy find a place to sit after he was so thoroughly trounced. And she actually did shift like she was about to start running, though of course she stopped herself before he inevitably—

And then he had to go and surprise Keros with snow magic and knock him out of the tournament like the snap of a finger.

"Wow."

The word slipped out before she could really do anything about it, and a little smile grew on her face.

“Wasn’t expecting incantations this early. Especially not from commoners.”

"Neither did I, but I'm glad. This way nobody got hurt." A moment passed before she realized how incredibly sappy and—and—and womanly what she'd just said was. After a beat of quiet that she felt was far too long and a self-conscious cough, she added: "After all, a heavy waster like that could break, what was it? Ferros' shoulder, and a commoner might never be able to get it fixed properly. Failure and pain are one thing, but being permanently crippled is quite another."

---

Nathaniel gave a small smirk as he watched Zen's duel. He was wrong at first glance, underestimating the Valefornian in favor of the more physically imposing teenager. Though, this was precisely why they did the duels like this to begin with. What Zen lacked in an ability to wield a sword properly, he made up for in strategy and magic. Nate turned his gaze for the first time to the others, making note of their similarly-colored hair. One was taller with red eyes, the other more his own height and of an athletic build. He reckoned, for a moment, that this is the part where they would exchange names and pleasantries.

At this point in time, none of that was of interest to Nate. He always preferred to match a name to one's skill.

“Wasn’t expecting incantations this early. Especially not from commoners.”

"Neither did I, but I'm glad. This way nobody got hurt. After all, a heavy waster like that could break, what was it? Ferros' shoulder, and a commoner might never be able to get it fixed properly. Failure and pain are one thing, but being permanently crippled is quite another."

Nathaniel's eyes turned back down to the field, where the victors were leaving the fields and being replaced by a new round of combatants. He eyed over the four winners, all skilled but in different ways. He chose to ignore the taller noble's latter sentiment. Surely they wouldn't let peasants fighting in this tournament be permanently crippled. That would be... well, irrelevant for now.

"It would be unwise to be unprepared for incantations to be used against you in these duels. It seems most of the commoners who make it through these early rounds will be using everything they have at their disposal to earn their spots. Ferros didn't just win because he knew an incantation; he used that incantation as a counter to his opponent. We'll have to see what else he can counter with incantations alone." Nathaniel paused in his speech, eyeing over Zenshin's smile and joy. "The only thing holding him back seems to be his unfamiliarity with a sword. He looked as scared of his own sword as his opponent's."

Three of the four winning duelists in this first round demonstrated impressive skill in Nate's eyes.

This was going to be fun.

---

“Eh, I’ve never had problems with incantations before.”

Eli’s casual remark was paired with a shrug as the next group entered the arena as the first one left.

To those who recognized Eli they wouldn’t have been particularly surprised he wasn’t hard pressed to be worried about incantations or aura users whatever their class may have been. Incantations had been tried on him before, the rare aura user he clashed with did the same. It never really mattered, because Eli’s own use of aura as the Absolute always stacked the deck. Too many had underestimated him in certain areas. There was a lot to that perception and through the years Eli always relished in it. Whenever he was faced with magic he was sure to taunt them, asserting that using magic was a clear sign that they could handle whatever he threw at them.

Despite Eli’s boredom in the perceptive boy’s remarks about needing to be on their guard, Eli wasn’t keen on making a fool of himself. It was so much more fun to make a fool of others, after all.

“I think I’ll be fine.” He added, “Magic is easy to counter.”