Morning broke over Starfall in a blaze of gold and crimson. The city still pulsed with excitement from the night before — stories of the sects' arrivals spreading like wildfire through every market, tavern, and alley.
"Did you see the Obsidian Drakes last night?" a baker's apprentice exclaimed, eyes wide as he kneaded dough. "Their beasts circled the coliseum three times before landing! Wings black as night!"
Across the counter, an older merchant laughed, shaking his head. "Hah! The Silver Sparrows were finer to watch. Graceful, silent, every arrow they loosed formed patterns in the sky! It was like watching art itself take flight!"
A pair of passing guards joined in the chatter."Art or not," one muttered, "none impressed me more than the Divine Lion. That roar still rattles in my bones."The other grinned. "Maybe. But you missed the Twilight Sect. Their entrance wasn't just a spectacle — it was a presence."
At that, even the merchant paused, interest piqued. "Twilight Sect?"
The guard nodded, his tone reverent. "Aye. They came late, just before midnight. No drums, no beasts. The sky dimmed when they arrived — like dusk itself followed them. Their disciples walked in perfect step, quiet but certain, their eyes burning with hunger like embers under that twilight banner. Confidence like I've never seen — as if the world itself would bend before them."
A hush followed his words. Even the city noise beyond the window seemed to fade for a moment.
The next scene opened in thunder and fire.
The coliseum roared once more — tens of thousands of voices rising as one tide. The air was electric, the stands a sea of color and motion. Banners of every sect and noble house rippled in the wind as Annalise Farwood stepped onto the central dais again, radiant beneath the morning sun.
Her voice, amplified by magic, soared across the arena: "People of Starfall! The day has come!"
The crowd's answering roar shook the very stones.
"All sects and noble houses have now gathered!" Annalise cried, gesturing grandly to the tiers above. "Behold! The might of our age — the Divine Lion, the Silver Sparrow, the Obsidian Drake, the Eclipsed Moon, the Moonlight Serpent, and the Twilight Sect, who arrived in the final hour! Every corner of the empire shines here today!"
The coliseum erupted again, a storm of sound and motion. Disciples bowed from their VIP boxes, elders stood with composed pride, and nobles basked in the radiance of their houses' banners.
Annalise raised a hand, and slowly, the crowd began to settle."Now — for the rules!"
A ripple of anticipation passed through the spectators.
"As is tradition," she said, her tone shifting into formal cadence, "the major sects and noble houses have each been granted two seeded participants. These honored sixty-four young cultivators will bypass the first round and await their challengers in the knock stages."
Cheers and applause rippled from the stands where banners of noble families fluttered brightest.
"But for the rest…" Her voice grew sharper, tinged with excitement. "Over ten thousand brave souls have signed up. Warriors, disciples, dreamers, and fools alike! Only nine hundred and sixty will advance to the next stage. The first round will be a free-for-all elimination in the secluded realm prepared by the Imperial Formation Masters!"
A collective murmur ran through the crowd — part awe, part fear.
"The realm will open at noon. Once inside, survival will decide who ascends and who falls. Remember: only the strongest, the fastest, the cleverest — will rise!"
Her final words cracked like thunder. But beneath the crowd's feverish cheering, many frowned in silence. The bias was clear — the elite protected, the common thrown to the bloodbath. Still, none dared to voice dissent. Not here, not now.
In the preparation chambers below the arena, tension filled the air like drawn steel.
The platform's stones shifted in place. A low rumble went through the arena. Spectators gasped as the great circular stage in the center rose, carving itself from the ground like a huge, ornate disk. Runic lines, faint and glowing, traced curves on its surface. It stood in silence, massive and expectant.
Rows of young cultivators adjusted armor, checked weapons, or meditated in silence. Eyes flicked between rivals — measuring, judging, imagining how each would look defeated on the sands. The scent of oil, sweat, and fear mingled with the faint hum of Qi.
Serena sat on a bench near the wall, tightening her gauntlets. Her heart raced, though her expression remained calm. Beside her, Delia leaned forward, whispering urgently.
"When we're inside the realm, we stick together. No matter what happens. Agreed?"
Serena looked at her friend and nodded. "Agreed."
Delia exhaled shakily. "There'll be thousands. I heard it's a jungle, or maybe ruins — no one knows what kind of monsters they'll throw in. We'll need to move fast."
Serena's lips curved faintly. "We'll make it. Both of us."
Her hand settled briefly over Delia's trembling one — steady, certain. Inside, though, her own heart pounded like a war drum.
This is it, she thought. My chance to rise. To be seen. To make my name echo through this city.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the charged air. I won't waste it.
Outside, the bells began to toll — deep, sonorous, final. The tournament was about to begin.
...
Annalise Farwood's voice rang out, clear, cutting through the quiet: "All participants, onto the platform!"
Serena's boots made soft thuds on stone. Delia followed. Others filed up: Twilight Sect disciples, warriors in plated armor, smaller sects with lighter gear, heavy‐armed noble scions. Some paused, looking at the horizon. Some gripped weapons. Some closed their eyes and breathed steadily. Tension hovered like mist.
On either side of the platform, massive torches flared. Light caught steel, caught eyes, caught hearts. The crowd leaned forward. Even the distant rings of seating seemed to draw near.
Annalise raised her staff. It shone with mana. The runes on the platform pulsed, glow spreading outward in veins like lightning under stone. She shouted, "Aaaaaaand...It Begins!"
In a beating of wings, a soft flash, then motes of light. One by one, each participant dissolved into motes—sparkling, flickering—then vanished. Serena's figure wavered, then was gone. Delia's voice was a whisper in the wind, then silent. The platform emptied.
Then the world changed.
Screens of Qi appeared, hovering in the air all over the Coliseum. Some small, like rings of light floating close to torches. Some large, stretching overhead like canvas panels. They glowed, blinking into life. Each frame revealed a part of the secluded Realm.
One screen showed a forest: thick trees, moss-hung trunks, roots that twisted over rocks. Sunlight broke through leaves, dust motes dancing in shafts of light. A cultivator stepped softly among damp leaves, sword sheathed, ears alert to rustling.
Another screen revealed ruins: broken columns, fallen archways, crumbled walls covered with ivy. Barren stones, moss, slick surfaces. Two contestants crept through broken pillars, wary. They paused before a toppled statue, listening.
Another scene: desert. Blinding sun overhead, shimmering sand, dunes rolling. A figure stumbled across the heat-cracked ground, carrying water skins, gear heavy. The wind kicked up sand, hiding landmarks.
Elsewhere: icy peaks dusted in snow, frozen lakes reflecting pale sky; marshes with reeds whispering; shadowed caverns where torches barely lit the walls. The Realm was huge. Scenes miles apart. Each contestant is alone in their own terrain. All far separated.
Gasps echoed through the stands. Eyes widened. Spectators pointed: "Look at that!"
"They're miles apart!"
"How will they ever meet?" The spectators murmured, amazed. The sight was more than a spectacle—it was promise and fear.
Annalise's voice roared again: "Let the first round begin!"
At her word, light swept across the arena. The screens flickered, sharpened. On many, the participants in the Realm moved: drawing blades, scouting shadows, stepping carefully, taking breaths.
Some lifted shields, some crouched behind pillars, some shaded their eyes from the sun. Sounds drifted faintly through the mana-screens: a blade scraping stone, a distant howl, the scrape of sand.
Someone in the VIP boxes mouthed, "So much space… so many dangers." Others clenched their hands, cheering, wanting courage for their favorites.
Serena opened her eyes in the screen showing the forest. She knelt behind a fallen log. Her heart pounded hard enough that she heard it echo. She saw moss, damp earth. She saw faint footprints in the mud. She knew someone else was close, somewhere—just out of view. She breathed in, whispering to herself: Move. Watch. Survive.
Delia appeared on another screen—the ruins. She circled around a broken wall, her spear raised, eyes sharp. The stones were slick. She paused, listened. A bird cried overhead. She risked a step forward.
In the stands, the spectators rose to their feet. The torches seemed to burn brighter. The banners snapped. Drumbeats began in the distance, synced to the rising tension as the Realm's first battles unfurled.
Annalise's staff glowed higher. Mana crackled in the air, carrying her voice across the realm: "May the worthy survive!"
And in that moment, the first round truly began.