The morning of the competition came with a chill in the air, despite the early summer sun. The streets of Ebonreach were alive with excitement. People bustled about, chattering animatedly about the upcoming matches. Merchants set up temporary stalls along the main thoroughfare, hawking everything from enchanted trinkets to good luck charms.
Lyra and I walked in silence, weaving through the crowd as we made our way toward the arena. Her hand rested casually on the hilt of her sword, her sharp gaze scanning the throng for any sign of trouble.
"You seem calm," she said, breaking the silence.
"Trying to be," I replied, though the knot in my stomach said otherwise.
"You should be," she said with a faint smirk. "This is just the first stage. The real challenges come later."
"Thanks for the reassurance," I muttered.
The arena came into view as we turned onto the main square. It was even more imposing up close, its black stone walls etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly. Towers rose from each corner, their spires cutting into the sky like jagged blades. The crowd thickened as we neared, the hum of voices swelling into a roar.
I hesitated at the base of the steps leading to the competitor's entrance, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Lyra nudged my arm, her smirk turning into something softer.
"Don't overthink it," she said. "You've trained for this. Just focus on what you can control."
I nodded, gripping the hilt of my sword as we ascended the steps.
Inside, the competitor's area was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The stone walls dampened the noise, creating an atmosphere of tense quiet. Rows of benches lined the walls, and competitors clustered in small groups, their whispered conversations barely audible.
Lyra followed me as I found an empty corner near the back, her eyes scanning the room with the same sharpness she always carried into battle.
"Looks like a strong crowd," she said, nodding toward a group of mages gathered near the center.
They caught my eye immediately. The tallest of them, a man with silver hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck, leaned casually against the wall. His movements were slow and deliberate, every inch of him radiating confidence.
"That's Elric Varian," Lyra said quietly. "He's one of the Concord's rising stars. An apprentice, but already favored to win."
Beside him stood a woman with fiery red hair, her fingers weaving glowing patterns in the air. The symbols lingered briefly before dissipating, the magic humming faintly in the air around her.
"Serana Thorne," Lyra added. "She's sharp and fast. Don't let her theatrics fool you—she's deadly in combat."
A third figure joined them—a man built like a mountain, his broad shoulders making the others seem small by comparison. His presence alone was enough to make the nearby competitors give him a wide berth.
"Garrick Stone," Lyra said, her voice tinged with caution. "Strength and cunning combined. If you meet him in the later rounds, don't try to outmatch him head-on."
I nodded, feeling a flicker of unease as I watched them interact. They moved with the ease of people who had done this before, their confidence a stark contrast to my own uncertainty.
"Stick to your lane," Lyra said, as if sensing my thoughts. "You're not here to beat favorites. You're here to prove yourself."
The sound of a chime echoed through the chamber, silencing the low murmur of conversation. A Concord official stepped forward, their robes shimmering faintly as they unfurled a long scroll.
"Competitors will be called in groups of ten," the official announced, their voice amplified by magic. "Proceed to the arena when your name is announced. Remain prepared at all times."
The first group was called, and to my relief, none of the favorites' names were on the list. As the competitors filed out, the tension in the room grew heavier, each name adding to the weight pressing against my chest.
"Elric Varian," the official called.
The silver-haired mage smirked, his movements slow and deliberate as he strode toward the exit.
"Serana Thorne."
The red-haired woman followed, her steps as graceful as her magic.
"Garrick Stone."
The towering man gave a curt nod before moving to join them.
"Well, there go the favorites," Lyra muttered.
I exhaled slowly, relieved not to be in their group. "They're all together?"
"Not uncommon," Lyra said. "The Concord loves a spectacle. Grouping the strongest together makes for better entertainment."
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as more names were called. Competitors shuffled in and out of the room, some returning with smug expressions, others looking shaken.
The knot in my stomach tightened with each passing moment. My hand brushed the pendant at my chest, its steady warmth a faint comfort against the growing tension.
Finally, the official's voice cut through the silence again.
"Aric."
My name hung in the air, sharp and clear. A hundred eyes turned to me, their gazes heavy with curiosity and judgment.
"Here we go," Lyra said, her voice low.
I nodded, standing and gripping the hilt of my sword as I made my way toward the exit.
"Good luck," Lyra called after me, her tone softer than before.
The door loomed ahead, its surface etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly as I approached. Beyond it lay the first test, the first step toward proving myself—not just to the Concord, but to the competitors who already doubted me.
I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves as the door creaked open.