The palace arena was a cacophony of steel and pride, louder and more visceral than I had ever imagined.
Warriors from the Western and Southern Kingdoms carpeted the training grounds, a sea of polished plate and boiled leather that glinted like broken glass under the unforgiving morning sun. Some moved in a rhythmic dance of death, their practice swords clashing in a spray of splinters, while others stood like statues, their eyes narrowed as they dissected the footwork of their future opponents.
The Moon’s Tournament had begun, a gravitational force that had pulled the finest blades from every corner of the allied lands. Somewhere among this throng of sweating, shouting men were the heroes of tomorrow—and the legends of the past.
The Southern Kingdom had spared no expense in its display
