When the city woke—

  It woke loud.

  Drums thundered through the streets before the sun had even finished rising.

  Trumpets blared, announcing the start of the festival.

  Merchants, travelers, and wide-eyed tourists streamed in through the city’s gates.

  Everyone was awake—from sleepy children to sharp-eyed grandparents.

  “Make it stop,” Kian groaned from his place on the couch, pulling a pillow over his face.

  “Nope,” Zeyk said far too cheerfully, already dressed and halfway through a sticky pastry. “Festival day. You can’t fight fate. Or drums.”

  The scent of roasted almonds and candied citrus wafted in through the open windows. Outside, voices rose—barking over prices, laughing at performers, flinging flower petals like confetti. Magic shimmered faintly in the air—subtle glamours and illusions, woven purely for beauty.

  “Kian, up. Today’s the big day,” Zeyk said, licking sugar off his thumb. “Nahl’s in the tournament. You and me—we’re on cult-watch.”

  Anvika stepped into the room, carrying a box of bread rolls and a flask of tea.

  “Be careful,” she said, setting them down. “The tournament—and the city’s laws—allow anyone to participate or spectate, as long as they haven’t broken Verulith’s laws within Verulith’s borders.”

  “Okay… and?” Kian asked, groggily sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

  “What I’m saying,” Anvika replied, voice tight, “is that your cult might be here. Participating. Watching. Blending in. They could be after the soul dagger.”

  “We’ll be careful, don’t worry,” Nahl said, sipping her tea with practiced calm.

  Anvika gave her a long look, then nodded. “Alright. Kian, get ready. We don’t want to miss the opening ceremony.”

  Kian didn’t argue. He bathed, wolfed down a roll, and pulled on the last clean clothes he had—some plain but decent fabric he’d picked up on the road to Verulith. Nothing flashy. Just passable enough to blend in.

  Moments later, they were out on the streets, swept into the current of festival-goers.

  Oh, and a strong current it was.

  The sheer amount of people in Verulith was insane.

  Kian didn’t think it was physically possible to cram this many mortals into one city without something collapsing. But here they were—thousands of bodies, all drifting in one direction: the stadium.

  The group stopped at a few stalls along the way.

  Why?

  Because they were tourists. Obviously.

  And because Anvika insisted Verulith’s festive markets were “some of the best in the world.”

  “In the mortal world,” Kian muttered under his breath, examining a carved crystal lizard that danced when poked with mana.

  They walked, snacked, pointed at glittering trinkets and impossible floating candles, and eventually—

  The stadium loomed into view.

  It was huge.

  Now that was something big—even by celestial standards.

  Tiered stone arches stacked like mountains. Enchanted banners rippled without wind. The topmost level floated just slightly above the rest, suspended by subtle magic and very expensive architecture.

  Anvika just smirked at their faces.

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  “Don’t worry,” she said. “It looks even bigger from the inside.”

  They weren’t the only ones gawking. Half the crowd had their heads tilted up, jaws slightly open. The structure practically radiated importance.

  Someone near them muttered, “How did they even build this?”

  Kian leaned toward Zeyk. “Where was this yesterday?”

  Zeyk just shrugged. “Maybe we weren’t looking up?”

  “Magic?”

  “Magic.” Zeyk nodded.

  Nahl rolled her shoulders. “Alright, I’m heading to the participants’ gate.”

  “You sure?” Kian asked. “No last-minute regrets?”

  “Please,” she said, flicking his forehead. “This is the fun part.”

  And with that, she disappeared into the throng of contestants—all of them dressed in armor, robes, tunics, or whatever looked intimidating enough for public combat.

  Kian exhaled slowly. “Okay. Guess we go find seats.”

  “High enough to see, low enough to run,” Anvika said. “Just in case.”

  They moved with the tide toward the entrance gates.

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  At the entrance, a pair of guards waved them through. The entire stadium was divided into sections, each designated by a different colored banner. Anvika was quick to steer them toward one marked in green—a middle-tier seating area with a decent view, yet far enough down for easy access.

  As they made their way up to their row, Kian couldn't help but feel a little out of place. The seats weren’t quite as packed as he’d expected, but there were still more than enough people to make him feel like a fish in a very big pond.

  They found three seats near the middle. Anvika claimed the one closest to the aisle, making it easier to slip out if things went sideways. Zeyk sat down next to her, practically vibrating with excitement, while Kian slid into the seat on the opposite side.

  “Okay, this is perfect,” Zeyk said, settling in. “Best view of the arena. We’ve got a good spot for keeping an eye on things.”

  Anvika looked around, her gaze briefly flicking to the other spectators. “Keep sharp. We don’t know if the cult’s here yet, but there’s no harm in being cautious.”

  Kian let out a soft sigh, adjusting in his seat. “You know, I kind of forgot how intense festivals get. The energy is… almost too much.”

  Anvika smirked. “This is nothing. Wait until the tournament actually starts. You’ll see what chaos really looks like.”

  The crowd’s noise built steadily as more people filtered in, filling the stands with their chatter and anticipation. Kian’s mind flickered between the excitement of the tournament and the potential threat of the cultists.

  After a few minutes of waiting, a trumpet rang out—loud enough to rattle Kian’s bones.

  The crowd quieted almost instantly, the roar of chatter fading into a collective hush.

  “Look! It’s about to begin,” Anvika whispered, her eyes fixed on the center of the arena.

  In the middle of the stadium, a raised platform shimmered with magic. A podium stood atop it, carved from pale stone and etched with intricate glyphs that pulsed faintly with mana.

  And onto that podium… a man walked in.

  No gates. No doors. Just air.

  He shimmered into existence, stepping forward as though the very world had parted to let him through. Every movement radiated practiced grace—and power. He wore layered robes of deep violet and gold, tailored to precision, with rings glittering on every finger. The fabric shimmered like oil on water. Very expensive. Kian immediately thought of Cassian.

  But this man made Cassian look like a peasant playing dress-up.

  When he spoke, the air itself seemed to bend, his voice echoing through the stadium without amplification. It wasn’t loud—but it reached. Somehow, it reached everywhere, resonating with clarity that defied natural law.

  “Welcome, competitors and spectators, to the One-Hundred-Seventy-Ninth Grand Festival of Verulith.”

  The crowd erupted in cheers, a wave of sound washing over them like a living tide. Kian flinched, but forced himself to watch.

  The man raised a hand, and the cheering subsided like someone had pulled a lever.

  “I am Lord Regent Faelor, Voice of the Council, and Overseer of the Games.”

  The name landed like a dropped dagger.

  Anvika’s eyes narrowed. “Faelor… I didn’t know he’d be here personally.”

  “Is that bad?” Kian muttered.

  “It means this year’s tournament might be more important than we thought,” she replied, barely audible.

  Faelor continued, each word ringing with magic.

  “This year, you compete not only for glory, but for honor. For recognition. And for a prize befitting the weight of destiny itself.”

  A slow silence fell again. The tension thickened.

  “In addition to the Champion’s Purse,” Faelor said, “this year’s victor shall also receive…”

  He gestured, and a magical projection burst into being above the arena—a gleaming, Gold embroidered Dagger. Its very image seemed to hum with power.

  “A relic,” Faelor intoned. “Recovered from beyond the borderlands. A soul dagger.”

  The crowd let out a collective gasp.

  The silence grew thicker

  Then Faelor smiled,“ Let the festivities begin!”