The Rusty Mug was quieter than usual when Jacqueline and Low stepped out into the late afternoon light. The air smelled of roasted corn and old ale, the kind of scent that clung to the streets long after the tavern doors closed.
Jacqueline adjusted her satchel strap, her newly mended bag bumping lightly against her hip. "We should be back before dark," she said, glancing at the thinning crowd. "Leonotis and Zombiel will want a full report."
Low kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the cobbles. "Right. Back to the shrine." She hesitated, then smirked faintly. "You know, now that we're all getting along a little better… maybe it's time you came clean about your other secret."
Jacqueline's brow furrowed. "My other secret?"
"The one you're keeping with Leonotis," Low said casually, though her tone had just enough edge to make it clear she was fishing for something.
Jacqueline blinked, then gave a slow, cautious smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on," Low said, waving a hand. "I'm not an idiot. I figured it out back on Water Mountain."
Jacqueline arched a brow, a bead of sweat started to form on it. "Figured what out, exactly?"
Low's expression turned sly. "That you and Leonotis like each other."
For half a heartbeat, Jacqueline stared. Then she broke. A sharp laugh burst out of her, followed by another, and soon she was clutching her stomach, bending over in helpless mirth. "Oh—by the Orisha—Low, please—stop, you'll kill me!"
Low blinked, taken aback. "Wha—? You don't have to laugh that hard!"
Jacqueline tried to catch her breath, wiping a tear from her eye. "You think—me and Leonotis? Romantically?"
Low crossed her arms, cheeks reddening. "Well, yeah! You two are always looking at each other like you're sharing some secret message! And when we met at the library the other day—you practically sparkled!"
That only made Jacqueline laugh harder. She almost stumbled, steadying herself against the wall of a nearby herbal shop. "Oh stars, Low, no! No, it's not like that." She finally stood upright again, her grin wide and genuine. "Leonotis and I… we're friends. That's all. He's brave, kind, frustrating—but not in that way."
Low frowned. "You sure?"
"Absolutely." Jacqueline leaned in conspiratorially, her voice teasing. "Don't worry, Low—he's all yours."
Low balked so fast she nearly tripped on her own boots. "Mine?! I don't— I don't think of him that way!"
Jacqueline stopped mid-step, turned, and stared. For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Then the silence cracked—first with a snort from Jacqueline, then with a reluctant chuckle from Low. Within seconds, both were laughing again, the sound echoing down the dusty road.
When their laughter finally faded, the tension between them was gone. The easy rhythm of friendship slipped back into place.
"Come on," Jacqueline said, smiling as she started down the hill toward the fields beyond the city. "The boys will want to know what we learned. And if we're lucky, the shrine might still have a bit of sunlight left."
Low nodded, her grin softer now. "Yeah. Let's go."
The two of them walked side by side through the evening haze, their laughter still lingering in the warm air—two travelers bound not by romance or secrets, but by something rarer and steadier: trust.
As they walked they heard someone yelling into the crowd.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" a herald cried, standing atop a broken fountain. "By order of His Radiant Majesty—the Sunstone Tournament begins in two days at dawn! Five days of glory, blood, and divine spectacle!"
A crowd gathered, murmuring with excitement and fear. Low and Jacqueline slowed, drawn to the man's booming voice.
"Champions from across the realm shall test their strength before the Orisha and the crown!" the herald continued. "And on the final day, a traitor to the kingdom shall meet justice in the arena—a traitor and murderer, a swordsman unmatched, whose skill once honored the previous king himself!"
Low froze. "...a swordsman unmatched?" she muttered.
Jacqueline's breath caught. Her eyes darted toward the platform. "Low, he can't mean—"
"Before the final match!" the herald cried, cutting her off. "The traitor shall face a beast of legend—one born of stone! The arena shall drink deep before the sun sets!"
The crowd roared with glee. Low's fists clenched.
Jacqueline swallowed hard. "A master swordsman... That sounds like Leonotis's master doesn't it."
Low's jaw tightened. "Yeah, it might be." But even as she said it, doubt trembled in her voice. "Damn it. If he's in the dungeons, that's how they'd parade him out."
The herald raised a golden scroll high. "And for those brave enough to enter the tournament—glory awaits! Third place shall claim Ada Ogun, the daughter of the God-Forge, a blade wrought in the fire of creation itself!"
The crowd gasped and surged forward, shouting questions. Jacqueline's eyes widened. "Ada Ogun… That's one of Ogun's sacred relics."
Low looked at her, then toward the palace's distant glow. "And first place?"
"The Sunstone!" the herald proclaimed, his voice cracking with pride. "A jewel infused with the Orisha's own light! Worth more than a noble's life! Second place, a chest of treasures from the royal vaults!"
The crowd cheered again, voices rising like a storm. Low stepped back into shadow, pulling Jacqueline with her.
"Gethii's being used," she muttered. "Turned into some bloody spectacle."
Jacqueline nodded grimly. "And that Sunstone—something that powerful? If it's pure sunlight àṣẹ… whoever wins it could reshape the balance of the city."
"Or destroy it," Low added darkly. "We need to tell Leonotis."
The scent of citrus and burning oil lingered in the air. Priests passed in slow procession, scattering petals as offerings to the Orisha before the tournament.
Zombiel tugged gently at Leonotis's sleeve. "They really like fire," he murmured, watching the torches dance. His voice was soft—half wonder, half weariness.
Leonotis smiled faintly. "Fire means power. And power means worship."
Zombiel didn't respond. His gaze had shifted to one of the banners hanging above the street. It depicted a radiant golden stone surrounded by rays—the Sunstone. But beneath it was another image, newly added: a swordsman bound in chains, kneeling before a lion carved of lightning and stone.
Leonotis frowned and stepped closer.
"Final Day Spectacle: The Traitor of the Crown Faces the Beast of Legend," the words read.
Zombiel's small voice broke the silence. "Sword…"
Leonotis followed his gaze. The illustration was crude but familiar—the long, curved blade, the distinctive hilt. His stomach turned. "No…"
Leonotis stared at the banner until his hands began to shake. The stylized figure's stance, even in art, carried that same balance—shoulders steady, head slightly bowed, as if even bound he refused to kneel.
"They're calling him a traitor." The words left Leonotis like a whisper.
Zombiel's expression didn't change. "People lie when they're afraid."
Leonotis tore his eyes from the banner and looked down at the boy. "And when they want to distract the city."
Zombiel nodded once, his tone steady but distant. "Then the King's scared."
Leonotis exhaled slowly, forcing his pulse to calm. "Five days. That's what the posters said. A five-day tournament."
He scanned another parchment nailed to a nearby wall, its ink still fresh and glistening under torchlight.
First Prize: The Sunstone — a jewel infused with the light of the Orisha.
Second Prize: The Royal Treasury's Golden Chest.
Third Prize: Ada Ogun, Blade of the Forge—Daughter of the Orisha Ogun.
Zombiel's eyes lingered on the name. "Ada Ogun," he murmured. "A sword with a name?"
Leonotis almost smiled. "Yeah and it's Gethii's sword. Gethii used to tell me stories. Said only someone who was accepted by Ada Ogun could weild it's full power."
Leonotis's chest tightened. The night felt heavier now.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, following the moonlit path toward the old shrine of Oko. The road curved into shadow, the noise of the city fading behind them.
When they reached the overgrown shrine, the others were already there. The shrine's roof had half-collapsed, and vines wound around its cracked pillars. The engraving of the Orisha Oko—a woman with a plow and broken chain—was barely visible through moss and dust.
Jacqueline rose at once. "You saw the banners too?"
Leonotis grimaced slightly. "It's him. They're parading Gethii for the final day."
Low swore under her breath. "A master swordsman turned traitor… We thought it might have been him."
Zombiel didn't look up. "They'll make him fight the beast," he said softly. "That's what they said."
Jacqueline's jaw clenched. "Then we only have until the fourth day of the tournament to find him."
Leonotis looked up at the broken statue. Oko's face had been weathered away, her eyes lost to time—but somehow, the hollow where they had once been seemed to stare back at him.
"We get him out," he said. "Both him and Chinakah. Before the king's arena becomes their grave."
Low cracked her knuckles, a sharp grin cutting through her anger. "Then let's start planning. I'm not missing that fight for the wrong reasons."
A restless silence settled over the shrine after Leonotis spoke. The torches outside crackled in the wind, their light flickering across the cracked stone and the half-faded engraving of Oko. For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Leonotis exhaled sharply. "We can't wait for the tournament to end." His voice was steady, but underneath it throbbed a current of urgency. "If Gethii's being held for the final spectacle, then he won't be anywhere near the dungeon. He'll be kept close to the arena… guarded, watched, displayed."
Low nodded grimly. "Paraded like a prize bull."
Jacqueline folded her arms. "So that means he'll only be accessible during the tournament." Her eyes narrowed. "Which means… you're thinking of entering."
Leonotis didn't hesitate. "We have to. If we don't, we'll never get close enough. And if we wait until the final day—" His jaw tightened. "We'll be too late."
Low sank down onto a broken pillar, thinking. "If we enter, we'll be inside the arena grounds. Between rounds, the fighters get access to the inner halls—rest chambers, storage rooms, even some restricted corridors." She looked up, expression sharpening. "Perfect place to slip away and find where they're keeping him."
"And Chinakah," Jacqueline added. "We rescue both."
Leonotis nodded. The thought of leaving Chinakah behind twisted his stomach. "Both," he repeated.
Zombiel pulled his legs close to his chest, his small voice drifting through the cool air. "Tournaments mean fire. Blood. People watching too close. Hard to hide things."
"It'll be dangerous," Jacqueline admitted. "More dangerous than sneaking into any dungeon." Then she sighed, shoulders falling. "But you're right. It's our best chance."
Leonotis took a step forward, determination hardening his features. "I'm entering. And when I free Gethii, I'm giving him Ada Ogun back."
Jacqueline blinked. "You mean the third-place prize?" She hesitated. "Leonotis… are you sure you can win against trained fighters? You won't be able to rely on your plant àṣẹ. Using it in front of the entire arena would expose you."
Leonotis drew an inch of wooden sword. "This was my strength before àṣẹ ever was.
Jacqueline opened her mouth, paused, then gave a slow nod. "Alright. Fair."
Low pushed herself to her feet. "Then I'm entering too. The more of us in the roster, the better our chances. I'll help thin the competition."
Leonotis frowned. "Low—"
"No," she cut in. "This isn't up for debate. You need me in that roster. You know I'm right."
He hesitated, then relented with a nod.
Zombiel stood abruptly. "I will enter too."
Three voices exploded at once.
"NO!"
Zombiel froze, blinking in confusion.
Leonotis crouched down so they were eye-level. "Zombiel… I need you outside the arena. Watching. Helping from the shadows." He softened his tone. "Not fighting grown warriors with spears and axes."
Jacqueline placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're part of this team. But this part—this part could kill you."
Low crossed her arms. "And besides, someone needs to keep an eye out for palace patrols. And for our exit." She smirked. "That's you, kid."
Zombiel's shoulders slumped. "I can be quiet," he muttered.
"We know," Leonotis said with a fond smile. "That's why we need you."
Zombiel didn't answer, but he didn't argue again.
Low cracked her knuckles. "Tomorrow morning, sign-ups begin. They'll probably throw us in the preliminary rounds to weed out the weaklings."
Jacqueline rubbed her temples. "So… we're really doing this."
Leonotis looked toward the distant palace, its towers glowing like fangs in the night sky.
"We are," he said. "For Gethii. For Chinakah."
His voice grew softer.
"And for what the king is trying to hide."
A quiet wind moved through the broken shrine, stirring old dust, as the four of them stood together—united in a plan reckless enough to get them killed.
But also reckless enough to succeed.
They went to sleep in the ruined shrine as the banners of the Sunstone fluttered and the city dreamed of blood and glory.