The tournament grounds buzzed with anticipation as the sun stood at its peak, casting a golden hue over the scene. Hundreds of banners, representing over 500 noble houses, rippled in the wind. Today marked the 90th choosing of the king, and the Sword of Fire awaited the victor-its flames dormant, its power lost in time. But that didn't matter to the assembled knights, each one clad in shining armor, their minds singularly focused on the throne. To claim the sword was to claim the crown.
Among them stood Eldren, a 19-year-old knight, representing House Dawnfist. The emblem of his house-a clenched fist with the sun rising behind it-was emblazoned proudly on his chest plate, gleaming in gold and crimson. It was a symbol of resilience, strength in the face of adversity, and the promise that no matter how dark the night, dawn would always come. Their banner, bearing the same symbol, flapped above the gathering, like a fist raised to defy the fate that loomed over them.
But Eldren carried more than just his family's sigil today. The weight of his house's future bore down on him. Valen, his older brother, had fallen in the last tournament, cut down before he could claim the Sword of Fire. Valen had been the hope of House Dawnfist-a seasoned warrior, skilled in both combat and diplomacy. His death had not only shattered their father but had left the house vulnerable, with only Eldren to carry their legacy forward.
Eldren's father had said little in the days leading up to the tournament, but his silence spoke louder than any words. House Dawnfist could not afford another failure. They had no more sons to send, no more chances. This tournament was their last hope of survival. Eldren was not here for glory or personal ambition; he was here because he had to be.
The sharp blare of trumpets echoed through the air, signaling the start of the tournament. Knights shifted restlessly, their armor clinking with every movement. Eldren's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. His heart raced, but his mind was clear. There were only two outcomes today: become the king or lie in the ground.
His gaze swept over the other knights, each one a rival, each one with their own hopes and burdens. The vast arena lay ahead, where the trial by combat would soon begin. Eldren took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. The Sword of Fire was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of rulership, and whoever claimed it would ascend to the throne. The flames within the sword had not ignited for centuries, leading many to believe its power had died. But legends persisted-whispers of a promised one who would reignite the sword's true flame.
Today, Eldren would fight not just to win the crown, but to honor his brother's memory and ensure that the Dawnfist name continued. The tournament was not merely about survival-it was about legacy. His house's sigil-a fist raised to meet the rising sun-felt like a reminder of what he was fighting for.
The gates to the arena creaked open, and the crowd roared in excitement. Eldren's heart pounded in time with their cheers. As he stepped forward, the sunlight glinted off his armor, casting a warm glow over him. He could hear Valen's voice in his mind, urging him forward: "Fight with honor, or don't fight at all."
With a final glance at the House Dawnfist banner, Eldren marched into the arena, ready to face the trials ahead. The battle for the throne had begun, and in this arena, there was no mercy-only victory or death.