The air beneath the arena was damp, heavy with the smell of stone and the faint trickle of unseen water. Torches sputtered against the walls, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits.
Three figures stood around a crude map spread across a wooden table. The parchment was old, its edges frayed — but the ink was fresh, marking the layout of the Academy of Crowns, the tournament arena, and the surrounding districts.
A voice, deep and jagged like grinding stone, broke the silence.
"Their strength grows faster than expected. Especially the boy… Edran."
The speaker — a man clad in scaled black armor — pressed a finger to the arena's center. "Qi Condensation, mid stage, and yet he defies the gap against peak stage opponents. If left unchecked, he'll be trouble in three years."
A second figure, thin and hunched, let out a raspy chuckle. "Three years? I give him one. There's something strange about him… I can smell it. His qi is not like the others. It's… ancient."
The third figure, whose hood hid all but a glint of pale blue eyes, tapped the map over the Veylan crest.
"The bloodline runs deep. Lyra's swordwork, Kaelen's footwork, and that boy's… whatever it is. If they live long enough, they'll stabilize the kingdom's rule for decades."
A pause. Then the hooded figure's voice dropped to a whisper that slithered through the air.
"And so, they will not live long enough."
---
From the corner of the room, a fourth presence stirred — not human, but a projection formed from swirling black mist. Its voice was cold, genderless, like the echo of ice breaking.
"The Stormblade Sect is already in our pocket. The Crimson Lotus Sect will follow once they taste the right incentives. Both have representatives in the tournament… and accidents happen in tournaments."
The armored man's lips curled in a smirk. "We'll start with the youngest. Remove the seed before it grows into a tree."
The mist shifted, forming vague shapes — blades, fire, and the silhouette of a dragon torn apart. "And the boy with the ancient qi… he must be tested. We need to know exactly what he hides before we strike."
The hooded figure folded the map, tucking it into their robe. "Then we move on two fronts: weaken them here, and set the stage for something far greater."
"What of the sect's elders?" the hunched man asked.
"They'll be… distracted."
---
Far above, the crowd's roar shook the ground, masking the sound of a secret door closing. The three conspirators vanished into the shadows, leaving only the torchlight flickering on the damp stone — and the whisper of a promise that, in time, would come for the Veylans.