The second week of April marked the height of the Royal Summit and Tournament, with the Palace grounds transformed into a nexus of power, ambition, and tension.
Nobles, dignitaries, and powerful Mages from across the Kingdom gathered to witness debates that would shape the future of the realm and matches that showcased magical excellence. Every corner of the grounds buzzed with whispers of alliances, rivalries, and ambitions as the Kingdom's elite vied for influence.
The morning sun warmed the air, filtering through the tournament arena and casting soft beams onto the polished stone floor. The audience filled the stands, a mix of Nobles in their finery and Magic Tower representatives in their austere robes.
Delphia sat among them, her sapphire gown blending with the colors of her House, her gaze fixed on the field below. Zypher stood poised, his maroon eyes sharp and calculating as he faced his opponent, Galen, a senior Mage and fellow Eighth Circle practitioner.
The anticipation was palpable, the murmurs of the crowd swelling like a wave. Whispers around Delphia caught her attention.
"Galen is no slouch, but Zypher Thorne… the Heir to the Tower? This will be a spectacle." Someone with a male voice murmured. "Imagine wielding all elements at his level—unheard of. He's practically untouchable." Their companion replied
"Still, Galen's no pushover. A battle between two Eighth Circle Mages? We'll be lucky to see anything like this again."
The gong signaling the start of the match reverberated through the arena, and Galen wasted no time. A surge of water burst forth, forming a massive, serpentine wave that crashed toward Zypher with deadly intent. Delphia's breath caught, but Zypher remained utterly calm. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a wall of fire that evaporated the wave in a hiss of steam, sending mist billowing across the field.
Galen pressed forward, weaving ice shards from the residual mist and launching them with precision. Zypher deflected them effortlessly with a gust of wind, each shard shattering before it could reach him. Then, in a move that drew gasps from the crowd, he summoned a vortex of lightning-infused darkness. The tendrils spiraled outward, crackling with energy as they snaked toward Galen.
The senior Mage countered with an earthen shield, the ground rising to protect him, but Zypher's magic was relentless. The tendrils coiled around the shield, shattering it with a thunderous crack. Galen retaliated with a series of quickfire spells—spikes of earth, torrents of water, and blasts of ice—but Zypher danced around them, his movements fluid and precise. It was a masterclass in magic, and Delphia couldn't take her eyes off him.
"He's toying with him," someone muttered behind her. "No," another voice replied. "He's testing him. Galen's good, but Zypher's on another level."
The final blow came swiftly. Zypher combined his elements in a dazzling display, creating a spiral of fire and ice that burst forward, disarming Galen and forcing him to concede. The arena erupted into applause, the spectators rising to their feet.
Zypher turned briefly, his eyes meeting Delphia's as a small, triumphant grin tugged at his lips. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, unable to stop herself from smiling back.
*
Later that afternoon, Delphia found herself seated in the grand council chamber of the Palace. The high ceilings, adorned with frescoes depicting the Kingdom's history, seemed to amplify the tension in the room. This particular discussion was open to public attendance, though only the most influential Nobles and scholars had gathered. Today's topic veered away from mana crystal allocation to focus on regional taxation—a subject no less contentious.
Duke Mooresbane was mid-argument, his booming voice echoing through the chamber. "The northern territories bear the brunt of maintaining our borders. It is only fair that we retain a larger share of the tax revenue to support our efforts." Duke Faremont countered, his tone sharp. "And yet, without the agricultural output of the western regions, those borders would starve. Balance must be maintained."
Delphia listened intently, her notebook open as she jotted down key points. Around her, whispers painted a picture of the deeper discontent.
"Mooresbane always overstates his contributions. The north wouldn't function without southern resources," a Noble murmured. "And Faremont is just as bad—always claiming the West feeds the Kingdom. As if no one else contributes,"another replied.
"Vosswell's unusually quiet," someone noted. "He's waiting. Calculating, as always."
Delphia's pen paused as she glanced toward her father.
Duke Vosswell sat with his hands steepled, his expression unreadable. When addressed directly, he spoke with calm authority. "Both points are valid. But if we continue to quarrel over who deserves more, we risk de-stabilizing the entire system. Unity, not division, will secure our future." His words earned nods of agreement, though Delphia caught the flicker of irritation in Duke Mooresbane's eyes.
The tension in the room was thick, and Delphia could feel the cracks in the Kingdom's foundation growing wider.
*
By the evening, Delphia and Zypher stood at the edge of the tournament grounds, the golden light of sunset casting long shadows across the field.
The match between Calista and Sybil had drawn a large, eager crowd. The air buzzed with anticipation, the audience murmuring with a mix of excitement and tension. This was more than just a match—it was a battle between two heirs of powerful Houses with everything to prove.
Sybil stepped onto the field, her navy and silver robes shimmering under the fading sunlight. Her posture was rigid, her movements sharp, as if she carried the weight of her House's reputation on her shoulders.
Across from her, Calista radiated an effortless grace. Her flowing gown of pale green and gold was an elegant contrast to Sybil's armor-like attire, but it was the quiet confidence in her gaze that drew the crowd's attention. She stood poised, her sky-blue hair catching the light, an image of composed power.
The gong sounded, and Sybil wasted no time.
She thrust her hands forward, summoning a torrent of water that swirled into jagged, crystalline shards. They shot toward Calista with blinding speed, their sharp edges glinting dangerously. The crowd gasped at the sheer force of the attack.
But Calista didn't flinch. With a fluid motion, she raised her hands, and the ground responded to her will. A wall of earth erupted from the field, absorbing the impact of the water shards with a resounding crack. The fragments splintered harmlessly against her defense, and she stepped forward, her expression calm and calculating.
Sybil clenched her fists, summoning another wave of water, this time forming a whirling vortex that she hurled toward Calista. Her movements were frantic, her attacks growing more forceful and desperate with each passing second.
"She's losing control," Zypher muttered, his maroon eyes fixed on the battlefield. "Her attacks are too aggressive—she's expending too much mana too quickly." Delphia nodded, her gaze never leaving the match. "She's not adapting. She's trying to overpower Calista, but it's not working."
Calista sidestepped the vortex with an almost lazy grace, her feet gliding across the ground as if she were dancing. She didn't counter immediately, instead watching Sybil with a faint smile that bordered on condescension. It was clear she was waiting, biding her time. Sybil, realizing her attacks weren't landing, changed tactics. She spread her arms wide, and the water around her expanded into a mist that began to fill the field. Visibility dropped as the fog thickened, obscuring the combatants from the crowd's view.
"She's trying to disorient her," Delphia whispered. "But Calista's too focused for that to work."
Within the mist, Calista's voice rang out, clear and steady. "Is that all you've got, Lady Mooresbane? Surely the heir of a ducal house can do better." The taunt struck a nerve. Sybil's voice came from somewhere within the fog, her tone laced with frustration. "You think you're better than me? You think you've earned this place?" Her mana surged, and the mist began to condense, forming razor-sharp ice blades that hovered menacingly in the air.
The audience leaned forward, the tension in the arena palpable. Delphia could feel the unease rippling through the crowd, the whispers growing louder: "Sybil's losing it."
"She's throwing everything at Calista, but it's not enough."
"Look at Calista—she hasn't even broken a sweat."
The fog began to lift as Calista manipulated the ground beneath her, sending a pulse of mana through the earth. The vibration disrupted Sybil's concentration, causing the ice blades to shatter mid-air.
Calista's voice was calm, almost mocking. "Power is nothing without control, Sybil. Let me show you." With a graceful motion, she summoned a wave of earth that surged toward Sybil, forcing her to leap back. But the movement had been a trap.
Calista shifted the terrain beneath Sybil's feet, causing her to stumble. A vine shot out from the ground, wrapping around Sybil's ankle and pulling her off balance. Sybil hit the ground hard, her breath leaving her in a sharp gasp. The crowd erupted into murmurs, their attention split between Sybil's obvious defeat and Calista's poised dominance.
Delphia's voice was low as she leaned toward Zypher. "She's playing Sybil like a fiddle. Every move she makes is designed to frustrate her, to break her confidence." Zypher's lips curved into a faint smirk. "She's not just fighting to win. She's fighting to destroy Sybil's reputation. And it's working."
Calista approached Sybil, her hand outstretched in a gesture of mockery disguised as kindness. "Here, let me help you up. No hard feelings, right?" Her voice was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with triumph. Sybil hesitated, her face red with a mix of exertion and humiliation. Slowly, she took Calista's hand, the forced smile on her face doing little to hide her bitterness. The crowd broke into applause, but the whispers told a different story:
"Sybil's done for."
"She can't come back from this. Not socially, at least."
"Calista's unstoppable."
As the match concluded, Delphia and Zypher remained silent, observing the fallout. Sybil retreated to the edge of the field, her head bowed and her shoulders tense. Calista basked in the attention, her every move calculated to maintain her image as the gracious victor.
As they left the arena, Delphia's thoughts were heavy. "Sybil's unraveling," she said softly, more to herself than to Zypher.
"And Calista's solidifying her position," Zypher replied. "But she's overplaying her hand. If we're careful, we can use this against her."
Delphia nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. Calista might have won this round, but the game was far from over.