A week later,
The city of Eldermoor was abuzz with news of the tournament. The names of the four victors were on everyone's lips. For them, however, the past week had been one of quiet, intense preparation.
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In a dark, opulent chamber in the Valewyn mansion, Alaric stood before his father. The air was thick with the scent of expensive incense and unspoken threats.
"You performed.. adequately," his father said, his voice a cold whisper from the shadows of his high-backed chair.
"But do not think for a moment that your task is complete. Getting into the academy is merely the first step."
He stepped into a sliver of light, his face a mask of cold ambition. "That Greymark boy… he is a loose end. A weed that should have been pulled long ago. I am surprised he has grown so troublesome."
"He is nothing," Alaric sneered. "A rat who got lucky."
"Do not be a fool," his father snapped, his voice sharp as glass. "The lucky ones are the ones you need to fear. At the trials, you will not only secure your place, but you will find an opportunity to… correct this oversight."
Alaric's jaw tightened. He simply nodded. "Yes, father."
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In the disciplined training yard of the Starr family estate, Orion stood before his father, a stern man with the unyielding posture of a seasoned general.
"You fought well," his father said, his voice a low rumble. "But you were reckless. That final attack left you completely exposed."
"I won," Orion stated simply.
"Winning one battle does not win a war," his father countered, his eyes sharp. "The capital is not like this arena. The battles there are fought in quiet rooms and shadowy alleys, with words and whispers. You carry the Starr family name now, our honor. Do not forget the meaning of the shield."
He handed Orion a small, heavy pouch. "This is for your expenses. Make us proud. But more importantly, come back alive."
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Seraphina Vayne stood on a cold, stone balcony overlooking her family's manicured gardens, a faint mist rising from the ground despite the morning sun. An elderly attendant placed a thick, fur-lined cloak over her shoulders.
"You must not fail, my lady," the old woman whispered, her voice frail. "The old master told me to give you this. It will hold it at bay. He told you to remember to act quick. To-"
"I know what is at stake," Seraphina cut her off, her voice devoid of emotion. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, as if looking at something far beyond the city walls. "I will not fail. I cannot."
She clutched a small, silver locket around her neck, its surface cold as ice. The path ahead was not about honor or glory for her. It was about survival.
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Arthur sat in his room, the first rays of dawn filtering through the window. In his palm, the spatial coin felt like a familiar weight. Inside its hidden library, he had spent the week devouring every book he could in the first section. Herbology, basic runic theory, principles of mana flow. It was all just knowledge, but he felt a change within him. He understood his own power better now.
He stood up, and seconds later, he appeared at the doorstep. The Mirage Dance was smoother now, more instinctual. He then clenched his fist, and a stable, crackling ball of blue lightning formed around it with barely a thought. The Silver-Vein Leaf had been a revelation.
His parents had already said their tearful goodbyes the night before, pressing a small pouch of coins into his hand that he knew they couldn't afford to part with. He had quietly added a few of Ezriel's gold coins to it and hid it his dad's bedside table when they weren't looking.
He was ready.
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Later that morning, the four champions assembled in the grand hall of the City Lord's mansion.
The atmosphere was tense. Arthur and Orion stood together, a quiet solidarity between them. A few feet away, Seraphina stood alone, a pillar of ice and elegance. Alaric leaned against a far wall, his arms crossed, his gaze flickering between Arthur and Seraphina with open contempt.
The City Lord stood by, along with the headmasters. Maelon Virestone was at the front, his expression as serene and unreadable as ever.
He looked at the four of them, his ancient eyes seeming to pierce their very thoughts.
"The carriage is ready," Maelon announced into the silent hall.
"Your journey to the capital, and to the trials of the Imperial Fate Academy, begins now."