The private banquet hall was smaller, light from hanging sconces bounced off polished wood and clean stone, casting soft shadows across the table where the heroes sat shoulder to shoulder with royalty. Plates were half-cleared, goblets half-full. The food had been fine, but the atmosphere tasted better.
King Aldren stood with a goblet in hand, his voice even, measured. "My champions, tonight we celebrate your safe return, and your first victory. Duskmire Forest has been cleansed. Trade flows again. Villages sleep soundly."
The heroes raised their drinks. Even Kael cracked a smile.
"But," the king continued, setting down his cup with a quiet clink, "your triumph must be seen—not just heard of. Lusteria needs to witness the strength of its chosen."
Chairs shifted slightly. Jace sat straighter, instinctively wary of the word witness.
"In three days, there will be a public demonstration," Aldren said. "An exhibition of your skills. A message to both allies and enemies."
Dren leaned forward, completely composed. "Your Majesty, may I inquire as to the nature of this demo?"
"The demonstration will focus on your combat prowess, something to feed the masses," the king explained.
Dren nodded in agreement, but Jace saw a flash of calculation in his eyes.Even without organizing the event, there would surely be opportunities for the ambitious champion to work angles to his advantage.
******
The courtyard was quiet.
A rare thing.
Most of the others were off preparing, finding whatever edge they could before the big show.
Jace couldn't sleep. So he came here.
The moon sat high above the palace rooftops turning everything it touched silver. A breeze moved through the open space, warm enough to raise the hairs on his arms but not enough to be called comfortable.
Jace sat on the edge of the raised platform, one knee pulled up, the other leg swinging over open air. His boot knocked gently against the wood with each idle swing. It gave him something to listen to.
He closed his eyes, tried to slow his breathing. Every time he got close to calm, his mind would snap back to tomorrow. The crowds. The weapons. The feeling of being measured from a hundred different angles by people who didn't even know him.
Footsteps, soft on stone.
He didn't look up. Just kept his eyes on the dark horizon.
"You should rest," Dren's voice came, too smooth to surprise him. "Big day tomorrow."
Jace huffed through his nose. "Can't sleep. Too excited."
Dren moved into view and stepped lightly up beside him, hands tucked behind his back. He stood like someone posing for a portrait.
"I understand," Dren said, nodding thoughtfully. "I was the same before my first public duel."
Jace turned just enough to catch a glimpse of him out the corner of his eye. "Did you win?"
"I did," Dren said. Then that smile came—soft, slow, like someone offering you a gift with both hands. "But it wasn't about the victory. It was about what it made people see."
That hung in the air longer than it needed to.
Jace let out a breath, glanced away again. The breeze lifted a few strands of hair into his face.
"Funny. I thought it was about what you did."
Dren didn't rise to it. His tone was mild, like they were talking about weather. "Perception is action, sometimes. You'll learn."
The silence returned. It wasn't heavy, just… stretched thin.
Then Dren said, almost idly, "You think they'll let us fight each other tomorrow?"
Jace didn't reply. His pulse ticked a little faster. Not fear, just the quiet certainty that this conversation was no longer just conversation.
He stood up, brushing a palm across the back of his tunic where dust clung to the sweat at his spine. His legs were stiff from sitting too long.
Behind him, Dren's voice followed like a parting breeze. "Sleep well, Jace. You'll want to be at your best."
Jace didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
******
Three days later, the palace training grounds looked nothing like they had before.
What used to be a simple field of packed dirt and scattered training dummies was now a full-blown arena.The tiered seating around the edge was full of nobility in embroidered clothes and common people trying to get a better view. Banners made of fabric hung overhead and caught the wind in lazy snaps.Somewhere, a bard tuned a lute.
The highest platform overlooking the arena, King Aldren stood in full ceremonial garb—blue cloak, silver circlet, hands raised.
The crowd surged to their feet with cheers and applause. Some chanted his name. Others clapped like they didn't know why they were clapping, but it felt right.
"Lusteria greets her champions!" the king called out, his voice amplified by subtle magic. "Today, we celebrate courage, skill, and the will to defend this realm!"
More cheering. Someone blew a horn. The bard flinched and kept strumming
Jace adjusted the collar of his tunic, already feeling the weight of too many eyes.
A weapons rack stood off to the side, lined with identical swords. The royal armory had insisted on fairness: no personalized weapons, no gear advantages. Everyone started on equal ground.
Captain Aldric stood at the center, back straight as a spear. "You'll each complete the same challenges," he said, pacing as he spoke. "Your combat will be tested through individual duels and an obstacle run."
Everything sounded above board. Looked it, too. Even the captains and squires watching from the sidelines gave nods of approval.
And yet—
Jace felt the tension start in his gut. A slow twist that crawled up into his shoulders.
Dren had been pleasant all morning. Polite. Even friendly.
It was like watching a snake wear someone's face.
"Come now, let's get this over with," Dren said, tone warm as tea. "We draw lots to determine the order."
The ceremonial urn was passed around. Each hero stepped forward one by one, reaching inside and pulling a small token etched with a number.
Dren waited at the back of the line, all charm and humility, but Jace caught it—the subtle way he shifted just enough to catch a glimpse of each draw. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn't on purpose.
When Jace reached in, he already knew what was coming.
His fingers brushed the wood. Cool, smooth. He pulled it free.
A carved 1 stared up at him.
"Well," Dren said, glancing at the token with a sympathetic wince. "First position. That's always the hardest. No time to observe the field."
Jace didn't answer.
He looked around. Tor was glancing at his own token—2—with a shrug. Zara had drawn 3, Elliot 4, and Kael 5. All perfectly lined up. Which left Dren, naturally, with 6. The final slot.
Last up meant full visibility. Full adaptability. The crowd would be warmed up, cheering louder, easier to impress. Every mistake made by someone else? He'd learn from it. Adjust. Outperform.
And everyone would call it luck.
Jace slipped the token into his pocket, What bothered him was how cleanly it had been set up without a single visible cheat.
Dren smiled again, soft and sweet.
Jace returned it with a nod, already replaying the layout of the arena in his head.
The arena quieted as Jace stepped into the center, wooden token tucked in his sleeve and the training sword already sweating in his palm. The blade was duller than he'd like—probably fine for drills, but not ideal when you were about to be attacked by enchanted dummies in front of half the capital.
Captain Aldric's voice rang out from the platform. "Let the demonstration begin!"
At his signal, five man-sized dummies slid into the ring on grooved tracks, guided by unseen magical forces. Each held a blunted blade and moved with jerky, deliberate steps.
The crowd watched with interest. Most were still settling in, fanning themselves against the heat or glancing over at the drinks table. A few kids in the upper tiers leaned forward, hoping for blood.
Jace exhaled through his nose, then shifted his stance.
Focus. Don't show off. Just handle it clean.
The first dummy lunged. He sidestepped and deflected its blade, letting the momentum carry it past him before snapping a quick slash across its back. It staggered, gears whining, but didn't fall.
A second dummy came from the right. Jace pivoted and ducked under its swing, felt wind brush his hair, then delivered a sharp jab to its core panel. It reeled, but didn't drop.
Too light, he thought. The sword barely had weight behind it. He'd have to rely on precision, not power.
The remaining three moved together, staggered timing but clearly coordinated.
Jace gave ground, baiting them into a tighter cluster. He waited for the exact moment one overstepped and used the opening to drive it into the path of another. Their limbs tangled. He slipped around the side, slammed his blade into a glyph on the shoulder of the third, and the light inside it sputtered out. It collapsed with a clatter.
The stands erupted in applause.