Proselyte was energized with a raucous fervour of a scale which vastly outstripped that of the typical bustle of the small city-state. Once a year, the physical entente was awash in a wide array of vibrant reds and blues; buildings and streets were dressed in rich linens and nationalistic tapestries. Dichotomous paints fell from windows and people alike in a riot of colour. For this one time in the year, both members from either sodality could be seen peacefully walking side by side, sharing the same streets, the same sights, and the same food.

  The Elemental Festival was the continent's grandest yearly celebration, a tribute to the alliance between the two sodalities of Rain and Cinder. No matter how fragile that alliance may have been.

  The stalls lining the thoroughfares swelled with the pride of their homelands: the air was thick with the scent of Rain's fat fish and plump fruits, while oddly juxtaposed across the way, Cinder's boiling stews and roasted meats sent up fragrant clouds of spice.

  Not even a full block away, one could see the clashing aesthetics of Rain's diverse flowers against Cinder's detailed metallurgy. Though so close together, these divergent residents took no arms and bore no malice; rather, they joined in a unified solidarity.

  For one week in the year, they appreciated one another's culture and art; for one week in the year, they tolerated one another's blood and lineage.

  As much as the event was a festive celebration, it was also much more than that. Beneath the revelry, the sodalities seized the chance to flaunt their power against the other, and nothing embodied this unspoken contest better than the Elemental Tournament.

  Though built for the grand centennial Tournament, the arena of Empedocles remained unused for such a goal in a century. The arena was a towering spherical monument that stood impossibly balanced upon its own vomitorium stairwells. This glorious architectural marvel, though, would, if not otherwise repurposed, have been but a curious exhibit of the city-state.

  Yet, its namesake and steward, Director Empedocles, refused to let his incredible home languish in irrelevance. Empedocles was a being heavily invested in the relations of the sodalities, so, in the interim of the arena's out-of-reach objective, he graciously lent it out so that it could house the combative duels that made the elemental festival so popular.

  Each sodality selected its finest warriors, pitting them against one another in a dazzling display of skill and power. In many ways, the Elemental Tournament was but a lesser echo of The Tournament itself.

  At least, that was how the elemental festival marketed itself. In truth, there were many differences that set the two apart. Beyond the disparity in frequency, there was a fundamental distinction—Elemental contestants were not divinely ordained but entered of their own accord, provided they could afford the considerable entry fee. Unlike in the tournament, participation was strictly limited to members of the sodalities.

  The duels were the heart of the festival, drawing crowds that swelled beyond the arena's limits. The auditorium was filled to bursting, spectators clinging to their hard-won seats, unwilling to surrender their vantage points. The air hummed with anticipation—thousands holding their breath, waiting for the first clash of the Elemental Tournament's main bracket to shatter the expectant silence.

  At either end of the arena, two raised platforms bore witness to an unspoken war. The royal families of Rain and Cinder, draped in their respective finery, sat in mirrored grandeur—present in full for the festival's most anticipated spectacle. Yet despite their proximity, neither sovereign deigned to acknowledge the other beyond fleeting, derisive glances.

  Their enmity was an unbroken current, coiled beneath the pageantry of unity, betrayed only by the rigid posture of guards and the carefully measured distance between their courts.

  Far removed from their quiet battle of wills, nestled high in the nosebleeds, a young Névé watched with silent wonder. Ignorant of political machinations, she was here for the fight, for the magic and might that would soon erupt below. This was her first Elemental Festival, and she watched on, maintaining a stoic vigil that was betrayed by her exhilarated grip on the edge of her seat.

  Névé drank in the spectacle below, her eyes sweeping across the grand stage. Encircling the battlefield, an elevated platform stood apart from both the audience and the combatants. Upon it, a network of glowing runes pulsed with arcane energy, and stationed along its length, wizards stood at the ready, weaving a protective dome which would ensure the chaos about to unfold remained caged within the arena's bounds.

  At the center of the stage, two men faced each other, poised for battle. One carried the military garb of Rain and the other of Cinder. They stood motionless, every muscle taut with readiness—until the gong struck.

  In an instant, the stillness shattered. The duelists erupted into motion, hurling their elements with practiced ferocity. Water met flame in a dazzling storm of steam.

  The crowd roared, their voices rising and falling with every exchange, every near miss, every strike that drew blood. They revelled in the spectacle—every broken bone, every spray of crimson only deepened their investment, heightened their fervour like sharks to chum.

  The fight raged on, neither warrior yielding, the intensity only mounting with time. Their attacks grew wilder, their aggression more ruthless, each seeking to claim dominance in this battle of pride. And then, at last, it ended.

  A final surge of flame engulfed the Rain fighter's left arm, consuming flesh and bone alike. When the fire ebbed, nothing remained but charred air, an ashen pile, and the slightly unsettling smell of barbeque.

  The Rain fighter crumpled to the floor, his face twisted in agony, one hand smothering the last flickering embers of his cauterized stump. The crowd erupted, and the stands were divided in their reaction. Cinder's spectators leapt to their feet in thunderous applause while those of Rain groaned in collective despair.

  Névé watched the entire ordeal enthralled, the faintest grin breaking her stoic visage. That was a real fight.

  Healers rushed onto the arena floor, gathering the writhing loser while the victorious Cinder fighter, slick with sweat, basked in the cheers of his people. He pumped a celebratory fist in the air, which redoubled the Cinder triumph, then strode from the stage. The duelists' place was soon filled by another figure. Unlike the combatants before him, the newcomer wore neutral brown garments, bearing no allegiance to either sodality. As he stepped forward, his voice rang out over the arena.

  "Wow! What an electrifying start to the main event! I doubt anyone expected such an intense clash on the festival's very first day. However, due to the unexpected length of the battle, we'll be heading straight into an intermission. But don't leave too quickly! For those of you who choose to stay, we have a special sideshow to keep you entertained!"

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  A woman with a blank expression placed a hand on Névé's shoulder. "It is time."

  Névé gave a small nod and rose without hesitation, following the woman without question.

  Névé and her guide slowly shuffled their way down while around them, the arena buzzed with movement—spectators shifting, chatting, and seeking refreshments. Yet, on stage, the showman carried on, his voice rising above the din.

  "After such an intense battle, I'm sure everyone could use something a little lighter! For our intermission event, we present the first juvenile match of the festival!"

  The announcer rambled on a little more about the history and evolution of the different age categories for the tournament while Névé and her chaperone entered the changing room to don the juvenile bracket's mandatory armour padding.

  Through the thin door leading to the main stage, she heard the announcer continue,

  "Now let me introduce to you our first two burgeoning warriors of the Juvenile Bracket. Representing the Sodality of Cinder, we have Sinecure Blaze! At only five years old, young Mr. Blaze has already demonstrated remarkable control over fire—his future burns bright!"

  Though subdued compared to the earlier fervour, the crowd gave a polite cheer, more placating for the children than actively excited.

  Névé's chaperone synched the last piece of padding, and the announcer resumed,

  "...And representing the Sodality of Rain, we have Névé! Despite her common birth and being only a mere four years old, Névé has self-taught herself the secrets of water, garnering the attention of her countrymen. She will be sure to make a splash!"

  As her name echoed across the arena, Névé strode onto the stage, her gaze locking onto the boy before her. Even before the match began, she was already dismantling him—analyzing his every flaw… and there were many flaws.

  His stance was weak and unbalanced; his centre of mass at least a few degrees past his legs. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was right-hand dominant. The protective padding required for the juvenile bracket draped awkwardly on his body. It clearly chafed against him—he had yet to grow accustomed to its restrictive weight. And then there was his posture, the way he held himself with effortless confidence.

  Arrogance. Na?ve, noble arrogance.

  She could see his name was sharper than his proverbial sword.

  The audience members who had remained during the intermission cooed at the sight of the adorably young combatants, enchanted by their small frames and serious expressions. They fawned over how earnestly the children tried to mimic the ferocity of the main-bracket fighters.

  "Now, let the first duel of the Elemental Tournament Juvenile Bracket of 3989 commence!"

  The announcer's voice rang out as he raised his hand. A moment later, the gong struck.

  The instant the sound reached her ears, Névé launched forward.

  Her opponent barely had time to register her movement before she was upon him. Judging by the startled gasps from the crowd, neither did the audience expect her to close the distance so quickly.

  A weak flame sputtered to life in the boy's right hand, but it was too late. Névé seized his wrist, yanking it away from his body. In the same motion, she twisted her hips and delivered a sweeping high kick, her foot cloaked in water. The impact landed with surgical precision—his elbow snapped with a sickening crack, the skin splitting as bone gave way.

  The boy screamed, his arm falling limp at his side, tears spilling freely down his flushed cheeks.

  Névé did not hesitate.

  The first lesson she had ever learned in training was simple—use every source of water available.

  Before anyone even registered what her first attack had accomplished, she took control of the boy's tears, forcing them backward with violent precision. The sudden reversal burned his eyes, inflaming them into a swollen blur of pain and blindness.

  His wailing barely had time to break through the stunned silence before Névé's fist drove into his gut. A choked gasp escaped him as his small frame crumpled, folding inward like paper as he collapsed onto the arena floor.

  With practiced elegance, she pulled the moisture from the humid air, coalescing it into a dense, rippling sphere.

  Then, she pressed it over the boy's mouth and nose.

  The boy's eyes bulged in panic, his mouth twisting as he fought for air that wasn't there. His face darkened with strain, the veins in his temple pressing against his reddening skin. With his one good arm, he clawed desperately at the suffocating water, his fingers raking through the liquid barrier. But his struggles were pitiful—he could do little more than stir the current slightly as it continued unperturbed, just as suffocating as before.

  Névé watched the boy's futile struggle on the ground, perplexed. Was this really the best Cinder had to offer?

  She had expected at least some kind of resistance or counterattack, something worthy of the tournament stage.

  She hadn't expected it to be so trivial.

  How had this boy ever survived his training sessions with that degree of skill?

  The fight was so simple that Névé wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. She didn't even have to grapple with him to stop him from dousing her water with his flames. Did he forget that he was a child of Cinder?

  Unsure of what to do next, Névé turned toward the edge of the arena, seeking guidance from her chaperone.

  That was the moment Névé's narrow focus on the battle broke.

  And suddenly, she heard it—the shrill, insistent ringing of the gong.

  She let her weapon dissolve back into the air and turned to face the crowd, mimicking the victorious fist bump of the Cinder fighter before her.

  Though she didn't seem to receive as warm a welcome as he did. Not even those of her own sodality were cheering.

  Instead, a suffocating silence pressed over the arena, thick with disturbed shock.

  The spectators who had been moving toward the exits for intermission now stood frozen on the stairwells staring aghast at the stage. The very air of celebration had curdled into something painfully uncomfortable.

  A team of healers rushed onto the stage, yet unlike before, they did not carry the boy away. Instead, they dropped to their knees beside him, hands already moving in frantic, glowing gestures to repair the damage.

  Another group of adults stormed toward Névé—obviously not to tend to her, but her expectation of praise was proven incorrect as well. The adults formed a barrier between her and the boy, their movements hurried, urgent, as though shielding him from something monstrous.

  Before she could react, her chaperone ran up, seized her wrist and yanked her offstage, escaping the increasingly chaotic fury in the audience.

  Névé's chaperone dragged her roughly into the combatants' changing room. The moment the door shut behind them, the woman spun on Névé, her face stripped of its earlier stoicism, replaced instead with sheer panic.

  "Névé, are you insane?! Why would you do that to the poor child?!"

  Névé blinked up at her, tilting her head in quiet confusion.

  She did not understand why everyone had been so roused by the battle. The duel was much less impressive than the one that the two adults had earlier, and the boy's injuries were far less severe, yet somehow everyone was much more disturbed by it.

  She met her chaperone's wide-eyed stare and answered with unwavering certainty.

  "I was winning the fight."