Quincy strolled into the fighters' waiting room, practically glowing with excitement, her arms stretched wide and her wings flaring out behind her. "Today's matches were so good!" she exclaimed, her voice high with joy.
"Calm down," Even said, raising his hands in caution. "Your wings are gonna clip the walls if you're not careful."
Quincy laughed and quickly folded her wings against her back. "Sorry, sorry."
"Where are Hittag and Calvinel, anyway?" Xain asked. Usually, the fighters returned by now.
"They're probably at the Healing Springs," Zeva answered, her tone calm.
"Yeah," Lexy chimed in, "they took some serious damage. They needed help just to get out of the arena."
Quincy nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! They're both soaking in the springs right now. Don't worry—they'll be fine in an hour or two," she said reassuringly.
Bryanard crossed his arms and asked, "How bad was Calvinel's injury?"
Quincy turned toward him, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her chin. "Let's see... bruised bones, a bunch of cuts, some fractures, and, of course, the broken leg," she listed with a chuckle. "Overall? Not good. But he didn't complain at all while they carried him to the springs."
She paused, laughing a little more. "Hittag didn't either—but well, not much he could say with a broken jaw."
Bryanard clicked his tongue and turned his head away, muttering under his breath, "He'd be dead if it were a real fight." His voice was low, meant for no one else, but the sharp ears of the elf and half-elf caught it easily.
"So..." Gurion spoke up, glancing toward the exit and twirling his hand in the air, "do we wait for those two, or do we leave?"
Quincy opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Two? Did everyone forget about me or what?"
They all turned to see Amos leaning casually in the doorway to the halls, already dressed in his full outfit.
"Ah, you woke up," Annabel said as Amos walked toward them.
"So, what did I miss? I wasn't out that long, right?" he asked, looking around at the amused faces staring back at him.
"What?" he asked again, confused, as Ulrich slung an arm over his shoulder.
"Boy, you missed a lot," Ulrich said with a chuckle, patting Amos on the chest. "Don't worry, we'll fill you in over a few drinks."
Amos's face slowly fell as he realized just how much he had missed.
— — —
"I'm going to go broke..." A familiar man, Jefferey muttered bitterly as he shoved a handful of coins into his friend's, Drift's outstretched hand.
"Man, you just can't make a good bet to save your life," Drift said with a smirk, happily pocketing the winnings.
Jefferey let out a heavy sigh and muttered, "You know what? Next time, you're the one predicting the winner. Not me."
Drift's grin widened into something almost devilish. "Sure. I'll make one right now. Zeva Blossom is gonna win her match."
Jefferey froze. "Wait... is she fighting tomorrow?"
Drift's smirk turned into a full, toothy grin. "Yep."
Jefferey looked like he wanted to scream.
— — —
"I can see why you insisted I attend," said the Emperor of Aeruna, his voice smooth but clearly pleased as he, his guards, and Tianteng strode through the upper halls of the coliseum. The marble floors echoed with each step of their polished boots. "That was one of the most entertaining events I've witnessed in quite some time."
Tianteng smiled and offered a respectful bow without breaking stride. "I am glad you are enjoying yourself, my Emperor," she said, her tone composed and graceful. "However," she added, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, "you may wish to reserve your highest praise. One of tomorrow's fights will be even more interesting."
— — —
Samwell Mathers and his son, Matthew, stepped into the waiting steamwagon, the hiss of the engines soft under the thrum of city noise. Samwell gave a curt gesture to the driver, signaling him to depart.
The ride started in silence, but after a moment, Matthew spoke up, his voice tentative. "The fights today were better than you expected... right, Father?"
He braced himself for a harsh dismissal but was surprised when Samwell, after a short pause, answered, "Yes. I suppose. Better than the usual brutish displays the Tournament of Greatness tends to offer."
Matthew blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. "Did... did you enjoy yourself at all?" he asked carefully.
Samwell scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Nothing of the sort. I was simply more interested than usual, that's all."
Matthew looked out the window to hide the small smile pulling at his lips. It wasn't much, but it was more than he usually got. *Small victories,* he thought.
— — —
"Do you understand what you have to do now?" Prince Mark asked, his voice cold and firm.
"Yes... I understand," Zara replied, nodding quietly. She stood stiffly in the small room of the inn they were staying at, located just down the road from the coliseum—the one they had rented.
"Good," Prince Mark said, turning his back to her and gazing out the window toward the bustling streets beyond. "It seems there might be some use for you after all."
The words stung, but Zara was used to it. She lowered her eyes and hesitated before asking, "Should I... wear something more..." she struggled, visibly uncomfortable, "appealing?"
Mark turned and looked her over with a critical eye before answering curtly, "Obviously."
— — —
"Couldn't find them today. Looks like we'll have to wait till tomorrow," Crow muttered as he and Amara wove their way through the streets, the crowds beginning to thin.
"I suppose," Amara said, her voice low. She added, almost to herself, "We could always wait until the brat has another match... kill him then."
Crow gave her a sharp look. "We're supposed to be capturing Larkin, not killing the blue-haired brat you keep obsessing over."
Amara stopped abruptly, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. "We do what I say," she warned, her voice a low, dangerous murmur. "Besides, causing conflict between the countries is the organization's main goal. Larkin can wait."
Without another word, she resumed walking, her boots striking the cobblestones with sharp steps. Crow clicked his tongue and followed, the frustration clear on his face as he thought darkly to himself, *Fucking obsessed bitch. Wonder what your mistress would say if she heard that.*