The archery contest had drawn nobles, mercenaries, and wanderers alike, each hoping to claim glory or at least a purse heavy with gold. The early rounds had seen a parade of minor lords and their second sons, most of whom barely grazed the outer rings of the targets. Archery, it seemed, was not a favored pastime in the southern reaches of the realm.
The crowd murmured with polite applause, but true excitement sparked only when the mercenaries and unknowns stepped forward. These were men and women hardened by survival, not courtly games. Their arrows flew with purpose, some striking dangerously close to the bullseye. A few hunters from the wilds also impressed, their shots honed by years of necessity. But the young lords? They fumbled, their arrows more likely to find dirt than target.
Then came a hush.
The announcer, a rotund man with a booming voice and a flair for the dramatic, stepped forward. "Next up," he bellowed, "Aranji Hyūga!"
A ripple of confusion passed through the crowd. Whispers rose like wind through leaves. "Is he blind?" someone muttered. "Look at his eyes!" another gasped. The pale, almost luminescent gaze of Aranji drew stares and suspicion. A few scoffed. Others leaned forward, intrigued.
Aranji ignored them all.
He stepped to the line, calm as still water. With a fluid motion, he nocked his first arrow and loosed it. The shaft whistled through the air and struck the closest target dead center. A few polite claps. Then the second arrow—longer range, same result. The third target stood at the far end of the field. He drew, exhaled, and released.
Thwack.
The arrow split the previous one clean in two.
Gasps erupted. Then cheers. Then a roar.
"Did you see that?" someone shouted.
"He split it! He split the damn arrow!"
Aranji bowed slightly, his expression unreadable. The crowd chanted his name—wrongly, of course but their enthusiasm was real. He stepped aside, joining the others who had finished. The final round was about to begin.
Three remained: the Stormlander hunter, a sharp-eyed mercenary from Essos, and Aranji.
This time, they would shoot together.
The first volley: all three hit the center.
The second: again, a tie.
The third: the Stormlander faltered, his arrow veering wide. A groan rippled through the crowd.
Aranji glanced at the Essosi. The man wore a ruby necklace that pulsed faintly with power. Aranji narrowed his eyes. Chakra, he thought. Refined, but unstable. He could see the strain in the man's face, the redness creeping into his eyes.
The final shot.
The Essosi drew, his hands trembling. He loosed too soon. The arrow clipped the edge of the target.
Aranji stepped forward. Calm. Focused. He drew, aimed, and let the arrow fly.
Bullseye.
The crowd exploded.
"Hyūga! Hyūga! Hyūga!" they chanted, still mispronouncing it, but louder than ever.
The announcer raised his arms, voice booming over the cheers. "And the winner of the Grand Archery Contest Aranji Hyūga! A prize of six hundred gold dragons to the champion!"
Coins clinked in a heavy chest as it was brought forward. Aranji gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, but his eyes scanned the crowd watchful, calculating.