Jade

  The crowd around me is a living, breathing thing, a massive beast roaring for blood and glory. My fingers curl around the smooth curve of my bow as I watch Emberes and Sir Rhylen square off in the arena.

  I've seen Emberes fight before—too many times to count—but this is different. He's not just trying to win this match; he's making a statement. That's what he does. Even at fourteen, he doesn't back down from anything, no matter how big the challenge.

  Thornton leans against the railing beside me, his arms crossed. "He's fearless, I'll give him that," he mutters, though there's a hint of worry in his voice.

  Fearless isn't the word I'd use. Reckless, maybe. But then again, Emberes has always been like that. He's not my brother, not really, but he might as well be. He's been part of our lives for so long that it feels like he is.

  But Sir Rhylen? He's an enigma. I've heard of the Guar Knights, of course. Everyone has. Their reputation precedes them—unshakable, disciplined, lethal. And the way Rhylen carries himself, with that unyielding calm, makes my skin prickle.

  The gong sounds.

  It's like lightning striking. Emberes surges forward, flames spiraling around him in a torrent of heat and light. Rhylen counters with a fluid motion, his glowing blade slicing through the fire as if it's nothing more than mist.

  The crowd gasps.

  I find myself leaning forward, heart racing as the clash unfolds. Emberes' movements are wild but precise, every strike a calculated gamble. Rhylen, by contrast, is a fortress—steady, immovable, every block and parry perfectly timed.

  They're evenly matched.

  The arena is a storm of fire and light, the two figures at its center locked in a deadly dance. Emberes drives Rhylen back with a wave of flame that forces the knight to leap clear, his golden armor scorched but unyielding. For a moment, it looks as though Emberes might have the upper hand.

  But Rhylen isn't done. He charges through the flames, his sword glowing brighter. The weapon hums with power as he swings, and Emberes is forced to throw up a wall of fire to deflect the blow. The impact sends a shockwave rippling through the arena, silencing the crowd.

  For what feels like an eternity, the two remain locked in place, Emberes' flames clashing against Rhylen's blade in a dazzling display of raw power.

  And then, with a final burst of energy, they break apart. Emberes stands at the center of the arena, flames flickering weakly around him, his breaths labored. Rhylen's blade is lowered, its golden glow dimmed but not extinguished.

  The gong sounds, signaling a draw.

  The crowd erupts, their cheers deafening. Emberes lowers his hands, a small, defiant grin on his face despite his exhaustion.

  "Not bad," he says, his voice tinged with pride. "For a Guar Knight."

  Rhylen sheaths his sword, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a faint smile curves his lips as he approaches Emberes.

  "You fought well, boy," he says, his voice calm but firm. "Better than most men twice your age." He places a gauntleted hand on Emberes' shoulder, the gesture almost fatherly. "But know this—I wasn't using my full strength. If I had been, the fight would have ended much sooner."

  Emberes' grin falters slightly, but he doesn't look away. Instead, he straightens his back, the firelight reflecting in his eyes.

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  "Then next time, I'll make sure you have to."

  Rhylen chuckles softly, his respect evident. "I look forward to it." He turns, walking away with the same calm authority he carried into the arena.

  Emberes stumbles slightly as he steps out of the arena, but his grin is still intact. Thornton rushes forward to steady him, ruffling his hair affectionately.

  "You almost had him," Thornton says.

  "Almost," Emberes mutters, though there's no bitterness in his voice. Only determination.

  "Jade of the Liche Clan," the announcer calls, his voice slicing through the noise.

  My stomach flips.

  Thornton places a steadying hand on my shoulder. "You've got this," he says, his tone firm.

  I nod, swallowing hard. The murmurs of the crowd grow louder as I step forward, their whispers brushing against my ears like ghostly fingers.

  I take my place in the arena, the vast space suddenly feeling suffocating. My opponent, a wiry woman clad in dark leather, saunters into view. Her weapons—a pair of hooked swords—glint menacingly in the sunlight.

  She grins, her confidence radiating off her like heat. "This'll be fun," she says, her voice carrying just enough arrogance to make my teeth grind.

  I draw my bow, the string humming with barely-contained energy as I notch an arrow. My twin daggers rest snugly at my hips, their weight reassuring.

  The gong rings out, its echo cutting through the roar of the crowd. My bow hums as I draw the string back, the tension vibrating in my fingertips. Across the arena, my opponent flashes a cocky grin, twirling her hooked swords with unnerving ease.

  She moves first.

  Her speed is incredible, and I barely have time to fire before she's upon me. My arrow grazes her shoulder, but she doesn't even flinch. Her swords come down in a vicious arc, and I dive to the side, rolling to my feet and drawing another arrow.

  The fight is chaos—a whirlwind of blades and arrows. Every time I try to put distance between us, she closes the gap, her swords cutting through the air with deadly precision. I manage to land a few hits, shallow cuts that slow her down only slightly, but it's not enough.

  She's relentless, and I'm running out of options.

  When she knocks my bow from my hands with a well-placed strike, my heart sinks. I draw my daggers, their weight familiar but not comforting. This isn't where I shine.

  She presses the attack, her strikes coming faster than I can block. My daggers catch her blades more by instinct than skill, but each impact sends jolts of pain through my arms.

  A sharp kick to my side sends me sprawling. My daggers clatter to the ground, just out of reach. I scramble to my feet, but it's too late—her sword is at my throat.

  The gong sounds.

  The crowd erupts in cheers, but I barely hear them over the pounding of my heart. My opponent steps back, lowering her weapons, her grin smug and triumphant.

  I can feel the disappointment settling in my chest like a stone as I retrieve my weapons and bow. The announcer's voice booms across the arena, declaring her the winner.

  Thornton is waiting for me at the edge of the arena, his expression unreadable. "Jade, you—"

  But before he can finish, the head judge raises a hand, silencing the crowd.

  "Attention!" the judge's voice carries across the arena, sharp and commanding. The murmurs of the spectators quiet as everyone turns to listen. "Upon review, we have determined that the match results are invalid."

  A wave of confusion ripples through the crowd, and my opponent's smug grin falters.

  The judge continues, his tone unwavering. "The use of a concealed energy emitter was detected during the fight." He gestures toward my opponent, whose face goes pale. "Such devices are strictly prohibited in this tournament. The emitter was embedded in your right sword, giving you an unfair advantage by disrupting your opponent's balance and weapon control."

  The crowd erupts into boos and gasps, their excitement turning to outrage.

  I blink, my mind racing to process the words. An energy emitter? That explains why my daggers felt sluggish and why my bow seemed heavier during the fight.

  The judge's gaze hardens as he addresses my opponent. "Due to this violation, you are disqualified. The victory is awarded to Jade of the Liche Clan."

  The crowd roars, their cheers blending with scattered jeers at the disqualified fighter.

  I don't move. I don't know how to feel.

  Thornton claps a hand on my shoulder. "You earned this," he says firmly.

  "But I lost," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the noise.

  "No," Thornton replies, his tone resolute. "She cheated, and you still held your own. That says more about your skill than her cheap tricks ever could."

  Emberes appears at my other side, still looking a little worse for wear from his fight but grinning nonetheless. "He's right. Besides, a win's a win, Jade."

  I glance back at the arena, where my opponent is being escorted away. The anger and humiliation on her face should make me feel better, but it doesn't.

  Still, as the crowd chants my name, some of the weight in my chest lifts. Maybe I didn't win the way I wanted to, but I fought fair—and in the end, that's what really matters.