The sunlit halls of the Myrrian palace gleamed with marble and gold, reflecting the vibrancy of Solaria's capital. Brynn's eyes darted from one ornate pillar to another, awe evident in his wide-eyed expression. Callum walked with an air of curiosity masked under princely poise, though his grin betrayed his excitement.
"Tone it down," Daemon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough for the two boys to straighten up. He glanced at Isolde, who gave him a knowing smirk, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"Let them enjoy themselves," she quipped softly, walking beside Daemon with her hands hidden in the folds of her cloak. "First time in the human realm, after all."
Before Daemon could respond, a herald's voice rang out. "Presenting His Majesty, King Rowan Baldwin of Myrria, and Her Majesty, Queen Rhea Baldwin."
The double doors swung open with a flourish. King Rowan strode in, his presence commanding but approachable, framed by his auburn hair and warm eyes that matched Aisha's. Beside him, Queen Rhea was regal yet gentle, her pale blue gown flowing like liquid silk.
"Welcome, sister," Rowan said, his voice booming yet tinged with affection. He stepped forward, arms outstretched as Aisha moved to embrace him.
"Rowan," Aisha replied, warmth in her voice as they hugged briefly. "It's been far too long."
"It has," Rowan agreed before turning to the others. "And welcome, friends of Atheria. I trust your journey was uneventful?"
Callum inclined his head respectfully, but Brynn, unable to keep the excitement from his voice, spoke up. "It was incredible! First time using a teleporter."
Rowan chuckled, eyes sparkling. "Ah, the thrill of youth. I remember my first time too—felt like my insides were trying to catch up with me."
Rhea laughed lightly, casting a fond glance at her husband. "He complained for hours, mind you. We're honored to have you all here, especially for such an event."
Isolde stepped forward, a mock salute accompanying her words. "Good to see you again, Your Majesty. I hear you've managed to keep the peace in Solaria. Let's hope the tournament doesn't change that."
"Isolde," Rowan acknowledged, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ever the vigilant one. Rest assured, we've taken every precaution. My guards are sharper than ever."
Daemon's gaze swept the room, noting subtle shifts in the shadows. Rowan's hidden guards were well-positioned, their presences almost imperceptible. But even with their level 5 or higher statuses, Daemon knew that with him and Isolde there, any threat would be swiftly neutralized.
"Let's move to the reception hall," Rhea suggested, her melodic voice guiding the group. "The other leaders will arrive shortly, and it's best we're ready."
As they walked, the air hummed with the sounds of animated chatter. Rowan spoke quietly to Aisha about the goings-on in Myrria, their voices a blend of familial warmth and royal decorum.
"Callum, you're looking more like your father every day," Rowan noted, glancing back at the young prince. "Training as hard as ever, I assume?"
Callum's eyes gleamed. "Harder. Brynn won't let me take a break."
Brynn gave a mock shrug, grinning. "Someone has to keep him sharp. Besides, I'm the one trying to catch up to Daemon."
Rowan's gaze shifted to Daemon, a mix of admiration and curiosity. "And how is our enigmatic hero? Still as unreadable as ever?"
Daemon met the king's eyes with a nod. "Always."
Isolde rolled her eyes, muttering, "One of these days, Daemon, you'll crack a joke and the world will end."
"Let's hope it never comes to that."
The grand hall was a whirlwind of color and noise as the dignitaries arrived, each flanked by their chosen warriors. The sounds of rustling fabrics, metallic jingles, and murmurs filled the room. The candidates, a mix of nervous excitement and fierce determination, scanned the room, sizing up their competition.
Rowan exchanged pleasantries with a warm smile, effortlessly playing the host. Beside him, Aisha matched his grace, offering greetings with a nod and kind eyes. Brynn, meanwhile, was trying hard not to fidget as Callum elbowed him lightly, smirking. "First impressions, Brynn. Try to look less like you're about to challenge someone to a duel."
The next group entered, their presence announced with a flourish. The representatives from Zarun were unmistakable—beastkin with wild eyes and an air of barely restrained energy. At the front, Rhedora Klaigone, leader of the feline tribe, walked with a swagger that seemed to dare anyone to challenge him. His piercing gaze swept the room before locking onto Feynor. His mouth twisted into a grin.
"Feynor!" Rhedora's voice boomed as he pushed through the crowd like a prowling lion. "Still pretending to be king, I see? How many duels are we overdue for now?"
Feynor's lips quirked up, a rare display of amusement. "Rhedora, it's always a pleasure. I stopped counting after twenty."
Before the feline leader could reply, a hand as delicate as a flower yet commanding as a storm settled on his shoulder. Selene, his wife, stood beside him, her eyes glinting with a mixture of affection and warning. "Rhedora, darling, we're here to represent Zarun, not challenge the world to a brawl."
Rhedora's ears twitched slightly, and the battle-hungry gleam in his eyes dimmed. "Of course, my love," he mumbled, drawing a chuckle from the gathered nobles.
Isolde leaned toward Daemon, smirking. "And here we thought you were hard to read. Rhedora goes from warlord to housecat with just one look from her."
Daemon's eyes held their usual bored expression. "We all have our weaknesses," he remarked flatly, though Brynn caught the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth.
Selene shot an apologetic glance at Feynor. "My apologies, Your Majesty. It seems some things never change."
"Don't worry, Selene," Aisha interjected smoothly. "Some rivalries are too old to be tempered by decorum."
The room stilled as if every breath had been held in unison when the Celestrian delegation entered. Their ethereal glow cast a soft light over the marble floors, reflecting like stars scattered at their feet. The spirit queen, Iris, walked with a grace that seemed to transcend the physical plane, her gown flowing like liquid moonlight. Around her, the thirteen spirit girls hovered slightly above the ground, their translucent forms shifting with an otherworldly elegance.
Feynor cleared his throat, feeling the weight of her gaze settle on him, piercing and timeless. "Queen Iris, it's an honor to have you with us once again."
Her expression remained unchanged, eyes unfathomably deep and serene. "King Feynor, your hospitality precedes you, as always," she spoke in a voice that was both soft and commanding, echoing as though whispered by the wind itself.
The tension in the room eased slightly as the delegates exchanged respectful nods. Isolde observed Iris with a mixture of awe and analytical curiosity, her fingers tapping lightly against her cloak. "Spirits… so enigmatic," she murmured to herself, catching Daemon's attention.
He shifted slightly, eyes narrowing at the brief pulse of energy between himself and Iris, a silent acknowledgment of forces beyond human reckoning. That white sphere only he could see hovered, radiating a sensation of incomprehensible might. Brynn, unable to feel the spiritual exchange but sensing the silence, tilted his head.
"Everything all right, Daemon?" Brynn whispered, trying not to disturb the formal atmosphere.
Daemon barely moved, his voice barely above a murmur. "Fine."
Before the conversation could continue, Iris's eyes flicked to Daemon, her expression softening by an almost imperceptible margin. There was recognition there—whether of kinship or curiosity, only she knew. She inclined her head ever so slightly, and Daemon, for once, returned the gesture, his usually unreadable face showing the smallest hint of respect.
Aisha observed the interaction, brows slightly raised. "Interesting," she whispered to Rowan, who nodded thoughtfully. The spirit queen's presence always invited mystery, and this time, it seemed, was no exception.
But before anyone could comment, a massive surge of energy erupted through the room, reverberating through their bones as the final kingdom arrived. The air crackled with an electric hum, drawing gasps from several delegates.
The hall felt even more charged as the dragon delegation stepped into view. Adonis Cepheus led them with an air of authority that filled the space like a tempest. His white hair shimmered under the light of the chandeliers, and his gaze swept across the room, taking in the kings, queens, and all their entourages with an intensity that commanded silence. For a moment, it seemed as if everyone's breath stilled as they felt the primal, untamed power that followed him like a shadow.
"King Armiel," Adonis greeted, his voice deep and resonant, each word infused with weight. "It is good to see Atheria remains steadfast."
"Adonis," Feynor replied with a nod, his tone polite but firm. "Your presence here is always a reminder of Ishaya's might. We are grateful for your participation."
Adonis's gaze moved, locking momentarily with Daemon's. The slightest twitch of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips, almost as if recognizing a worthy opponent. Daemon, ever composed, met his eyes without flinching, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.
Then, Adonis's eyes caught the gentle glow of Iris, who stood still as moonlight. The two ancient beings stared at each other, an unspoken history flaring between their intense gazes. Iris's pale, ethereal face softened, and the slightest glimmer of familiarity showed in her ageless eyes.
"Adonis," she finally spoke, her voice soft and echoing, like a breeze through ancient woods. "The weight of your years has not diminished your wild spirit, I see."
Adonis's grin widened, a rare sight. "And you, Iris, remain as untouchable as ever. I half-expected you to send a proxy this time."
A faint smile touched Iris's lips, almost imperceptible. "Even old spirits seek change now and then. I see the winds of Alcor are shifting, and I would witness them with my own eyes."
"You'll find our world's changes are seldom subtle," Adonis replied with a knowing look, crossing his arms over his chest. The golden pupils of his eyes glinted like embers as he scanned the room.
Queen Aisha stepped forward, her warm demeanor bridging the formality. "Adonis, it's wonderful to have you join us. And your father, is he well?"
Adonis's powerful expression softened slightly as he inclined his head to her. "Queen Aisha, he is well but preoccupied. I have taken his place this year so he may tend to the borders. Ishaya's strength remains unwavering."
The subtle ease of tension was felt throughout the room as the conversation shifted from formality to a shared respect. Brynn's eyes darted between the dignitaries, taking in the sheer power of their presence. Even Callum, usually chatty, was uncharacteristically quiet as he absorbed the atmosphere.
Isolde leaned closer to Daemon, who remained still as ever. "They talk like they've seen entire civilizations rise and fall," she whispered, eyes sparkling with intrigue.
"Perhaps they have," Daemon replied softly.
Before the pause could deepen, the doors opened, and the young warriors of Myrria entered.