"Yes."
Today was the day. The day Princess Medura would prove herself at Kuns Academy.
The battle field stretched wide before her. Tents flapped in the wind. Crowds poured in, buzzing with anticipation. She clenched her fists, steadying the storm inside her chest.
She had to do this. She had to show her father that she wasn't weak. Not a mistake. Not a waste.
"Just a few more minutes," she whispered, excitement lacing her breath.
She pushed aside the curtain of her tent. Through the gap, she watched the workers scatter across the grounds, hammering down the final pegs, marking the arena.
"Who's your opponent?" a voice asked beside her.
Amira stepped closer, peeking through the same slit in the tent.
The other tent stood out clearly. Unlike their white tents—symbols of noble blood—this one draped in soft pink belonged to the commoners. It would be a disgrace if pink defeated white.
"Klaina," Medura murmured, eyes fixed ahead, ignoring Amira.
Amira drew a sharp breath, voice trembling. "Klaina?"
Medura met her gaze and nodded. "Yes. Klaina."
She didn't understand the fear—why Amira, or anyone, trembled at the name. At the academy, Klaina was hailed as the strongest, despite her common birth.
For three years, Medura had failed to beat anyone. She trained every day with her sword, honing every skill she could teach herself. Magic hadn't come, but she had something else—will.
And this time, she would defeat Klaina.
"You can't defeat her," Amira said, shaking her head. "Not even Mammoth can."
Medura rolled her eyes. Why fear a mere human? She was royal—maybe strength ran deeper within her.
"What are you thinking?" Amira's voice cracked with fear. "That you can win? Do you want to be mocked? You're a princess."
Medura tapped Amira's shoulder. "Don't be afraid. This is not beyond me."
The announcer pulled back his tent flap and peered inside. His gaze flicked from Amira to the princess. "Ready? I'll announce your entrance."
Medura nodded, curling her fists. Her eyes sharpened, staring through the tent's gap.
"Very well," the announcer murmured, then stepped away.
Medura closed her eyes, waiting for his voice to push her forward. The entire kingdom was watching—her father, the court. She could not fail.
"Medura," Amira said, concern threading her voice, "maybe we should postpone until you've gained your powers."
Medura shot her a fierce glare. "I am the princess. The gods will bless me when I call."
"But have they?" Amira whispered, doubt lingering between her words.
A sudden voice cut through the tension. "Now, we announce Princess Medura!"
Medura barely heard Amira's last words—if at all. As her name echoed, she pushed aside the curtains and stepped into the open.
Cheers rose from the kingdom's people. The academy pupils barely even murmured.
She swallowed hard but kept her steps steady on the soft grass.
No—she would not show an ounce of fear.
At the ring's highest stand sat her father, the king, surrounded by his court. Medura approached and bowed slightly. He nodded once, then she moved toward the waiting circle.
The second announcement came.
"Klaina!"
The roar from the crowd hit Medura like a wave. She blinked, a flicker of fear flashing through her—but she swallowed it down. Klaina was beneath her. Not royal. Why should she be afraid?
Klaina stepped out of the tent. Medura held her ground, refusing to show weakness.
Klaina was lean and tall, though not as tall as Medura. Her white hair was trimmed—a mark of her magic blessing. Muscles flexed beneath her pink leather warrior suit.
Medura narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her blade.
She watched Klaina skeptically as she reached the king, bowed, then moved toward where Medura stood.
"You might be a princess, but your powers are weak," Klaina mocked, her voice low, eyes narrowed. "But you dared think you can defeat me?"
"Yes," Medura said, keeping her voice steady like Klaina's. "You're no different from other skilled mages who have been defeated."
"Oh, we shall see," Klaina's lips curved.
"And now, the fight shall begin!"
A bell rang. Medura's eyes locked on Klaina. A smile curved Klaina's lips—and then, in an instant—
Whoosh!
Klaina vanished from in front of her. Before Medura could react, the handle of Klaina's blade struck her head.
Medura staggered but stayed on her feet, brow furrowed.
"I told you," Klaina's voice whispered behind her.
Medura spun, raising her blade to strike. Klaina's sword slammed against hers with brutal force, pushing Medura back again.
The crowd cheered, but not for her.
Medura grunted and tried again, but it was useless. Klaina used her magic to move faster than Medura could follow.
"If you're really that strong, fight without your magic," Medura snapped, raising her blade. Klaina leapt skillfully aside.
"That's all you royals think," Klaina mused. She slipped behind Medura and struck her head with the blade's handle. "That we lack fighting skill. Princess, I've barely used my magic."
Medura's head snapped back in pain. She clutched it, grunting. Her gaze caught her father's—his brow furrowed in displeasure.
Medura's head snapped in pain. She clutched it and grunted. Her gaze met her father's without realizing it, and his brow furrowed. He did not look pleased.
The pain pushed her to her feet. She turned to Klaina. The crowd cheered, fueling her strength.
"You can be defeated," Medura said. She thought of all her training days. How could she forgive herself for barely using her skill?
She jumped, blade sharp and focused, descending on Klaina.
Silence fell. Everyone held their breath, waiting for what would come.
Even Klaina's eyes widened as she looked up at Medura.
A slow smile curved Medura's lips as she caught the fear flickering in Klaina's eyes. Yes, even the strongest mage could be defeated.
She drew her blade forward...
But not fast enough.
Klaina slipped between them and slammed the handle of her blade into Medura's stomach.
The crowd gasped.
Medura crumpled to the ground—defeated.
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
Klaina squatted beside her and whispered, "It's a shame someone like you is even royal."
The announcer's voice cut through the air—the words Medura refused to hear.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she lifted her head and met her father's disappointed gaze.
It was over.
She would never be a mage.
Never the princess the people wanted.