The morning sun rose like a fiery ball, bathing the District in sweltering heat. Bera stretched vast muscles tingling with anticipation, inhaling the mingled scents of stone and sweat. A new day brought the tournament's opening rounds. All that remained was the plunge into battle.
Across the courtyard, Sylvi flowed through meticulous drills, practicing trickier techniques too delicate for Bera's brawling. Her elegant blade flickered sunlight, riposting phantom foes. Yet anxiety tightened her features, as if divination troubled her rest.
When Ibis's gong summoned all contenders, Bera's blood thrilled to see the elf emerge once more composed and graceful. Together they followed the crowd crushing toward Tournament Plaza, hub and heart of the Games.
Emerging onto its outskirts, Bera gasped. Circular marble floors wider than any arena on Vesuvius stretched before them, bordered by rising stone terraces filled with species from across known space. But highest of all soared a palatial spire housing Zenith's rulers, presiding over the spectacle from crystal windows.
As contenders filled the inner rings, announcers' booming voices echoed introductions. First to battle were champions hailing from mining colonies on remote moons, clashing with fanged beasts over gem rights. Their brutal brawling stirred bloodlust in the roaring stands, yet Sylvi watched with eyes that missed nothing.
When Bera's turn came, he shrugged off opposers like gnats and claimed victory through raw power alone. But victory felt hollow without true challenge. Meanwhile Sylvi outfoxed foes through illusion and mercy, denying kills but securing her advancement all the same. Her displays of skill awed crowds used to slaughter alone.
By day's end, over half the contenders had fallen, yet Bera and Sylvi emerged triumphant. As the moon rose silver behind spires still ringing with cheers, they returned to The Brazen Bull for rest and celebration. But unease once more creased Sylvi's features as the elf scanned the revelry, as if still searching for some sign of corruption.
The next morn dawned hazier, bearing thunderheads swollen with rain. Bera rose restless, craving stronger competition, while Sylvi greeted the weather with furrowed brow. Her gifts whispered of tumult near, yet its nature stayed oblique.
Their worries proved well-founded. The day's initial matches saw more injuries than victories, as tempers shortened in the heat. One gladiator grappled an opponent too long after defeat, sending them crumpling unconscious. Before officials could intervene, their clan attacked in vengeance, sparking riots that spilled from stands into the Plaza.
Chaos erupted as Bera and Sylvi fought to escape the mayhem. Blades flashed and blood flowed as order collapsed, factions joining battle without honor or rules. It took the city guard's intervention to finally quell unrest, leaving several fallen and the tournament postponed.
That evening, a somber mood fell over The Brazen Bull. Contenders nursed wounds both physical and psychological, shaken by today's ugly scenes. Sylvi lingered by the hearth, deep in thought. At last she approached Bera, features grave. My gifts whisper of a shadow growing over these Games. Factions conspire behind placid facades, risking further violence if left unchecked.
Bera snorted dismissively. Small minds will always plot, yet true strength and spirit will prevail. But Sylvi shook her head. Such attitudes foster the very corruption we must remedy, not dismiss. Unity and justice alone can safeguard honor here. She gazed into the flames. We must expose wrongdoers before they poison Zenith's heart.
The next morn, as the sky cleared, Ibis emerged bearing grim news. Officials had uncovered an organized plot to rig matches for profit and influence. Ringleaders faced banishment...yet one lead back to a rumored champion who never showed face. Eyes turned meaningfully to the highest spire, where no ruler had deigned address the unrest staining their games.
More mysteries piled by the hour. That eve, as contenders drank and debated, a hooded stranger glided between them. Sidling to Bera and Sylvi's table, long nails scraped wood, drawing their gazes to endless eyes glowing in shadow. My masters grow...ambitious, it hissed. Beware the armored champion, for not all is as it seems...
Its cryptic warning lingered long after its departure, haunting Bera and Sylvi's rest. The morrow would bring harder truths than any battle, as conspiracies' roots ran deeper than expected. And in the Plaza's heart awaited a mystery they must solve, before the very spirit of these Games was lost forever...