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CHAPTER 2 — THE CITY OF FIVE CROWNS
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The road into Asterion widened the closer Kael came to the gates.
Caravans rattled along, some stacked with crates of wine and bolts of silk, others heavy with cages holding strange beasts.
Merchants called to one another, voices pitched above the creak of wheels. Guards in polished breastplates eyed everyone with the disinterested suspicion of men who'd seen trouble often enough to know it always came eventually.
Kael moved with the flow. His black coat had dried in the sun, his boots were clean enough not to draw attention, and he carried no visible weapon — though the sword at his back was hidden under the long folds of fabric, its weight perfectly familiar.
Side stirred in his mind.
> Side: "The city is more dangerous than it looks. Every man here has a blade, and every smile hides an agenda."
Kael: "Sounds like home."
The crowd funneled into the shadow of the gates. The walls loomed above, carved with reliefs of crowned figures — each one different. Five kings, Kael guessed. Or maybe one king in five different crowns.
A guard stepped into his path. The man was broad-shouldered, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes sharp.
"Name, origin, and business in Asterion."
"Kael Cromwell," Kael said easily. "From a long way west. Here for the Festival."
The guard gave him a long, measuring look, then nodded toward a table where a scribe scratched notes into a ledger. Kael signed his name without fuss. The guard waved him through.
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The city swallowed him whole.
It was bigger than he'd expected — wide avenues lined with stone buildings three and four stories tall, their balconies draped in banners. Gold, crimson, emerald, sapphire, and black — five colors repeating everywhere.
Food stalls lined the streets: skewers of sizzling meat, pastries dusted with sugar, roasted nuts tossed in spiced honey. Minstrels played at every corner, their music almost drowned out by the hawkers shouting their wares.
Side's voice cut in again, calm, precise.
> Side: "The colors represent the Five Crowns. Each crown is a ruling faction — noble houses bound by the founding pact. Gold for commerce, crimson for the military, emerald for magic, sapphire for diplomacy, and black for law and shadows."
Kael: "Law and shadows. Cute pairing."
Side: "The Festival winner earns the patronage of one crown. Many die trying."
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Kael took it in quietly, cataloging alleys, choke points, vantage spots. The crowd's energy wasn't just celebration — it was expectation, a city holding its breath before something sharp.
He stopped at a smithy where a rack of blades gleamed in the sun. The smith, a thick-armed dwarf with a beard braided in silver wire, glanced up.
"You look like a man who knows steel," the dwarf said.
Kael's gaze drifted along the rack, stopping at a longsword of blackened steel. "I know enough to tell this one's seen use."
The dwarf grunted approval. "Took it off a sellsword who thought armor was for cowards. He was wrong."
Kael picked it up. The balance was good. Not as perfect as his hidden blade, but close. He handed it back. "Maybe I'll come back after the Festival."
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In the central plaza, the Festival preparations were in full swing. Wooden stands rose in a ring around a wide, sand-floored arena. Workers hammered beams, strung banners, and hauled in barrels. A raised platform at one end was clearly for the Five Crowns — five ornate chairs already in place, each styled to its color.
Kael lingered at the edge of the plaza. Side was silent now, letting him observe.
That's when he noticed him.
A young man in fine crimson clothes, standing with three others — two in armor, one in mage's robes. His bearing screamed nobility, but it was the way he scanned the plaza that marked him as dangerous: eyes always moving, never lingering too long on one spot.
The noble's gaze met Kael's. It was only for a heartbeat, but it was enough — a flicker of curiosity, maybe recognition, though they had never met.
Side's voice slid into Kael's mind.
> Side: "Name: Lucien Draemir. Second son of the Crimson Crown's high seat. Duellist. Military prodigy. Arrogant."
Kael: "Sounds like fun."
Lucien gave a small, knowing smile before turning away.
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As the sun dropped, the city shifted. Torches flared to life. The scent of roasting meat grew stronger. Musicians changed from bright festival tunes to deeper, faster rhythms.
Kael found a tavern just off the plaza — The Stag's Head, its sign creaking on iron chains. Inside, the air was thick with heat and laughter. Merchants, adventurers, and mercenaries crowded the tables.
He ordered a drink, took a corner seat, and let the noise wash over him.
Two men at a nearby table were arguing.
"…telling you, the first trial's tomorrow night. It's the Labyrinth again."
"You don't know that."
"Course I do! My cousin's on the setup crew. Says they've got the gates sealed already."
Kael sipped his drink.
> Kael: "Labyrinth?"
Side: "An underground dungeon beneath the arena. Monsters imported from across the kingdoms. The first trial for Festival contestants. Survival is the only measure."
Kael: "And you waited until now to mention it?"
Side: "You didn't ask."
Kael smirked. "I'm starting to like you."
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Outside, the night deepened. Somewhere in the city, the bells tolled — slow, deliberate.
Tomorrow, the Festival of Crowns would begin.
And Kael Cromwell was ready to step onto the board.
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