The Grand Tournament of Valenhold was a spectacle of violence and vanity. Nobles draped in silks and jewels filled the tiers of the Iron Circlet Arena, their cheers dripping with bloodlust. Banners of the royal siblings hung from the rafters—Cedric's blackthorn crest, Elara's phoenix, Dorian's coiled serpent, Isolde's radiant sun. At the center of the sand-strewn floor stood the **Oathstone**, a slab of Eldertree relic said to judge a warrior's worth.
Ethan entered through the slaves' gate, his branch strapped to his back. Lira and Varyn lingered in the shadows of the tunnels, their warnings sharp in his ears:
"Don't reveal all four elements yet," Varyn growled. "Save sunlight and water for the finals."
"And don't die," Lira added, loading her bow. "I didn't drag you here to feed you to Cedric's dogs."
The crowd roared as the herald announced Ethan's name: *"Ethan Ardent, the Mudborn! A commoner masquerading as a swordsman!"*
Ethan's opponent was **Ser Jorrick**, a three-star knight sworn to House Voss. He wielded a flail crackling with fire aura, his armor engraved with wolves.
"A branch?" Jorrick sneered. "I'll splinter it and your bones."
The bell rang.
Jorrick charged, flames trailing his flail. Ethan sidestepped, channeling **earth** through the branch. Mud from his boots hardened into jagged spikes, anchoring him as he parried. The flail's chain wrapped around the branch, yanking it from Ethan's grip.
The crowd jeered.
"Pathetic," Jorrick spat. "Yield, and I'll make it quick."
Ethan grinned. "You talk too much."
He stomped, unleashing **wind** from his palms. Dust swirled into Jorrick's eyes, blinding him. Ethan snatched the flail's chain, yanking Jorrick forward, and drove his elbow into the knight's visor. The man crumpled, blood pooling in the sand.
Silence. Then, thunderous applause.
Princess Elara leaned forward in her balcony, her lips curling. Prince Cedric's fist clenched around his goblet, wine dripping like blood.
In the royal pavilion, Cedric watched Ethan's next match through slitted eyes. His champion, **Draven**, sharpened a dagger beside him.
"End him in the semifinals," Cedric ordered. "Make it gruesome. Let the peasants see what happens to rats who dare rise."
Draven smirked. "I'll carve his aura from his bones."
Nearby, Princess Isolde prayed over the Oathstone, her hands glowing with healing light. "Brother, this violence dishonors the Eldertrees," she pleaded.
Cedric scoffed. "Pray harder, sister. Your trees won't save you when Vostra's armies come."
Ethan's second opponent was **Lady Veyra**, a four-star duelist with twin sabers humming with lightning aura. She circled him like a predator.
"You're a curiosity, Mudborn," she said. "But curiosities break."
She struck, sabers blurring. Ethan channeled **water**, condensing arena mist into a shimmering shield. Lightning arced harmlessly into the droplets.
"How—?" Veyra faltered.
Ethan retaliated, weaving **wind** into his strikes. The branch became a whirlwind, splintering one saber, then the other. Veyra knelt, breathless.
"Yield," Ethan said.
The crowd chanted his name. *"Mudborn! Mudborn!"*
Elara's eyes gleamed. *He's perfect*, she thought. *A storm they'll never see coming.*
Between rounds, Cedric's agents slipped poison into Ethan's water. Lira intercepted it, her arrow pinning the assassin's hand to the wall.
"Tell your prince," she hissed, "his tricks won't save him from what's coming."
Varyn inspected the vial. "Widow's Bane. Cedric's favorite." He crushed it. "You're a thorn in his side, boy. Good."
Ethan faced Draven at dusk, the arena lit by torches. The champion's aura radiated heat—**fire, metal, and shadow**, three elements intertwined.
"Your blood will christen Cedric's throne," Draven said, drawing a blade of living darkness.
Ethan unsheathed his branch. "Try."
The clash was cataclysmic. Draven's shadow blade dissolved earth, his fire melted wind. Ethan staggered, his aura fraying.
*"Four elements,"* Varyn's voice echoed in his mind. *"Unleash them."*
Ethan roared. **Sunlight** erupted from his scar, igniting the branch. **Water** surged from the Oathstone, dousing Draven's flames. The crowd gasped as golden light and azure waves spiraled around Ethan.
Draven faltered. "Impossible!"
Ethan's branch shattered the shadow blade, its shards dissolving into mist. He disarmed Draven, the tip of his smoldering wood at the champion's throat.
"Yield."
The arena trembled. The Oathstone glowed, recognizing Ethan's aura.
Cedric stood, his chair toppling. "Kill him!
Before Cedric's guards could act, Princess Elara raised her hand. "By the law of the Iron Circlet, Ethan Ardent advances to the final!"
The nobles erupted—some in fury, others in awe. Ethan met Cedric's gaze across the arena, sunlight still flickering at his fingertips.
In the tunnels, Varyn grinned. "The storm has landed."
That night, Ethan dreamt again.
*The withered Eldertree sapling screamed, its roots bleeding amber aura into Cedric's vials. Eryndor stood beside it, his form fading. "Hurry… the final trial is not the tournament. It's the tree. Cedric plans to burn it at dawn."*
Ethan woke to Lira shaking him. "Get up. Cedric's marching to the canyon. We're out of time.