No horn sounded. No banners were raised.
Instead, the tournament began with a quake.
The sky flashed white.
The ground split apart beneath their feet.
In a blink, the starting zone—the wide clearing where the human champions had gathered—collapsed into itself, as if swallowed by the island's own hunger. Wards pulsed across the land, ancient and primal, rejecting the structured war they had prepared for.
Selene's map dissolved into ash in her hands.
Lucien didn't curse. Kael didn't flinch. But the others—the younger champions—stumbled.
Everything had changed.
The island had spoken.
And it wanted chaos.
Kael stood alone on a barren ridge, stone cracked and scorched. The scent of brimstone clung to the air. Massive footprints carved into the ground told him where he was.
Dragonoid territory.
He smiled faintly.
So this is how it starts.
Lucien's boots landed soft on damp moss. Around him, the trees shimmered with magic, ethereal and wrong. Elven glyphs floated in the air like drifting snowflakes—silent warnings.
He took a breath.
"I've been sent to the lions' den," he muttered, unafraid.
And somewhere, the lions had already smelled him.
Selene ran, not from fear, but because slowing down would mean death. She could hear them—five steps, coordinated, deliberate, not hunting her like prey... but testing her like a puzzle.
When she stopped beside an overgrown ruin, the elves appeared.
Five of them. Robes fluttering like woven moonlight. Wands not drawn. Yet.
The tallest, pale-skinned and sharp-eyed, tilted his head. His voice was honey laced with disdain.
"A tactician, aren't you? We studied your lectures before this day. You humans always over-plan."
Another, a silver-haired female with no visible weapon, added softly:
"I wonder—will your brilliant strategies save you when your blood is in the air?"
Selene's blade left its sheath with a whisper.
She didn't answer. Words wouldn't save her now.
A wind surged from the trees.
Lucien landed like a shadow in motion, spelllight already curling around his arms.
The elves turned.
"Ah," the leader murmured. "The boy who bent mana to his will. The one with eyes too old for his face."
Lucien didn't smile.
"Five on one. You sure that's enough?"
Another elf sneered. "We are not human. We don't lose because we're outnumbered."
"Good," Lucien replied, voice low. "Then this won't take long."
He stepped between them and Selene, drawing the magic in the air toward himself like a storm gathering heat.
A roar answered him.
Trees buckled. The ground cracked again.
Five dragonoids tore through the undergrowth, their armored forms glowing with internal fire, each step like a thunderclap.
The leader—a horned, red-skinned warrior with glowing eyes—pointed a massive glaive toward Lucien.
"Mages."
He spat the word like poison.
"You hide behind light and tricks. Let's see how you bleed."
Another dragonoid, bulkier, shoulders like stone walls, laughed.
"We've crushed elves before. You're just slower prey."
Selene stepped forward. "He's not just a mage. And you're not the threat you think you are."
The red-eyed leader growled. "Woman, do you speak to dragons with that tone?"
"Only the ones too stupid to fly," she shot back.
Lucien held up a hand, calmly. "Enough."
But even he couldn't cover both flanks.
He turned, hands blazing with arcane power, ready to burn the trees, bend the storm.
Too slow.
One dragonoid surged past his guard, spear drawn—aimed directly at Selene.
Then Kael arrived.
His landing cracked stone. His fist shattered the dragonoid's attack before it finished forming.
One movement. One breath. The dragonoid was airborne—then unconscious.
Kael didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The other four dragonoids recoiled, snarling.
"You," said the glaive-bearer, eyes narrowing. "The one they call 'the warborn.'"
Kael's violet aura flickered to life.
"You talk too much," he said flatly.
He stepped forward.
One strike. One kick. One elbow. The clearing erupted in raw force.
Five dragonoids hit the dirt, moaning, broken, humiliated.
Only one remained standing: the Dragonoid Young Lord.
He hadn't moved.
He watched everything unfold with calm contempt, then finally stepped forward.
Kael turned toward him, expression unreadable. "That all?"
The young lord's eyes glowed. "No. That was just to see if you were worth touching."
On the opposite side, the elven princess emerged—calm, regal, untouchable. Her long hair shimmered like silver thread, and her mana was so refined it bent the grass beneath her feet.
Lucien stepped forward to meet her, magic rising with every breath.
Kael and the dragonoid lord didn't speak again.
They didn't need to.
Selene stood between them all, wide-eyed. This wasn't war anymore.
It was madness.
"Run," Lucien said quietly. "This isn't a battle. It's a storm."
Kael nodded, eyes locked on his prey.
"Go. Before the earth forgets how to carry silence."
Selene ran.
And behind her, four gods born of fury and pride stared each other down.
No mercy.
No peace.
Just ruin waiting to be unleashed.