A day has passed in travel.
The wind that carried Kent and Elder Jill down from the skies was soft, yet carried the weight of destinies not yet written.
Kent stood at the edge of the floating chariot, his robe fluttering gently as the figure of Elder Jill stepped beside him. The two gazed down at the village below, nestled near a thick emerald-green forest. From above, the village looked ordinary—huts clustered in rings, a few spirit smoke chimneys, narrow winding paths—but at its heart was something extraordinary.
A large dueling arena, carved from sacred wood and ancient runes, roared silently with energy. Around it stood hundreds of silent observers, their eyes sharp, breaths held. No noise, no chants. Just pure reverence. For the battle within was one worthy of legends.
Kent's gaze dropped to the center of the ring. His pupils slightly shrank.
