From their high vantage point on the hill, the group could make out the grand coliseum at the city’s center. The Argent Ring was a massive, circular structure with flowing banners bearing the crest of the Valenne family: a white scale of justice with a snake wrapped around it, against a crimson background.

  “Whoa,” Soren breathed, his eyes still wide.

  Remi finally sat up properly. “It really is something else,” she murmured.

  “This place has changed a lot,” Jorge said loudly.

  “Seems like the Valenne family finally started using some of that coin they have..”

  Even as they spoke, Soren couldn’t stop looking outside. Everyone, it seemed, was here for the same reason.

  As they approached the city gates, they were halted briefly by Celta guards in polished white and silver steel armour. One of them, a lean man with a crescent-shaped scar across his chin, approached the carriage.

  He gave a nod to the drivers, as well as Faris who was still sitting in front, before walking around to the carriage door.

  “Good afternoon. We know you guys are in a sponsored carriage, but protocol is protocol. State your name and reason for entry.”

  Jorge stepped out of the carriage. “Hollow Stag Company. We received a formal invite to participate in the Blade Festival.”

  The second guard looked them over, eyes lingering a little longer through the window on Elise’s blades and Soren’s youthful face. Then he nodded, snapping his fingers and whistling to the gate operators.

  “You’re expected. You’ll need to be officially registered in the East District, close to the Valenne Estate. Welcome to Celta.”

  The gates creaked open, and then they were inside.

  As the carriage descended into the city, the streets grew louder, full of lanterns strung between buildings, market stalls already bursting with vendors selling all types of wares, and people from all walks of life.

  Soren saw performers with vibrant outfits, elven merchants with gilded carts, dwarven blacksmiths advertising enchanted weapons, and groups of orcs walking around armed to the teeth.

  Their surroundings seemed to be alive with energy. Jugglers spun knives in the alleys while people watched, musicians played instruments while bards sang for the crowds, and city criers shouted out different wares being sold.

  Soren leaned closer to Elise as they passed a group of knights adorned in crimson and silver.

  “Who’re they?”

  “Valenne soldiers,” she answered. “Arrogant, precise, and well-funded.”

  They passed a smaller group next, elves wearing regal attire in shades of green, black, and gold.

  “House Silverglade,” she added. “They’re the house solely comprised of elves we mentioned a few days ago. They’re well funded, but they’re also widely considered the most cunning.”

  Asta smiled faintly. “And don’t forget the Knight’s Guild. Half of them really are noble, while the other half are just good at pretending.”

  Soren whistled and shook his head. “Sounds like it’s more than just a tournament.”

  Remi nodded as she leaned back. “Oh, it is. This is where people show up to prove what they’re made of. Sometimes it’s just for glory. Sometimes, for something else.”

  Meanwhile, vendors still shouted outside about festival charms and tournament wagers. Children darted in the streets between adults, while nobles in silk attire passed by armored mercenaries, both giving each other dirty looks. The entire atmosphere felt electric and charged.

  Soren leaned slightly toward the window again, resting his arm against the frame as he continued to take it all in.

  And then he saw them.

  A small group walking along the opposite side of the street. At first glance, they looked human.

  But then he noticed their ears.

  Soft, triangular, furred ears were perched atop their heads, twitching slightly as they laughed. And they had tails, too. Long, expressive tails swaying behind them idly, reacting every now and then.

  “Neko.”

  He’d heard of them before, of course. Traders in Eirland spoke of beastkin tribes further east, and traveling bards had made a point of exaggerating their agility and senses. But he had never seen one in person before.

  They looked… mostly human. They had the same faces, the same height and posture. The only difference were those distinct feline features woven naturally into their bodies.

  One of them glanced toward the carriage, and her eyes landed on Soren. She had dark hair, and yellow eyes, while wearing shorts and a loose cropped tunic.

  Their eyes met at that moment.

  She smiled at him.

  Then she waved happily.

  Soren froze for half a second, before instinctively lifting his hand in a stiff, almost mechanical wave back.

  The group of neko girls giggled at him as they continued walking. The tail of the girl who had waved flicked playfully as she gave Soren a wink, before continuing on.

  “Oh?”

  Remi’s voice came from the side opposite him.

  Soren shifted slightly, but didn’t look away from the window. “What?”

  Remi stood up and sat next to him, leaning closer as she followed his line of sight. She smiled playfully as she spoke.

  “Just… didn’t know you were into that.”

  His head snapped toward her in confusion. “Into what?”

  She tilted her chin toward the street as she grinned. “Cat girls.”

  “I wasn’t—” He cut himself off, glancing quickly back outside as if to prove he wasn’t still looking. “I was just observing the street.”

  “Observing,” Remi repeated in a curious tone, as if testing the word.

  “Yes.”

  “Very academically as well, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve never seen neko in person before,” he said, lowering his voice defensively. “They’re… different.”

  Elise, still seated beside him with her hood up, didn’t look away from her book as she spoke.

  “Teenage boys discovering there are variations of women in the world,” she muttered dryly, sarcasm in her tone.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “A tale as old as time.”

  Soren’s face heated slightly. “That’s not what this is.”

  Jorge let out a loud laugh across from them, shaking his head as he grinned, arms folded over his chest.

  “Nothing wrong with looking, lad. They’re waving at you, not stabbing you.”

  “I wasn’t looking,” Soren insisted, shooting a glare at him.

  “You waved back,” Remi pointed out instantly, tilting her head.

  “That was being polite.”

  “Mm.”

  “It was.”

  Jorge grinned and began counting on his fingers. “Be proud. First adventure, first city, first neko encounter. This is a rite of passage for you, kid.”

  “It wasn’t an encounter,” Soren scowled through clenched teeth. “It was incidental.”

  Asta, seated near the front inside of the carriage with a composed posture, smiled gently. She glanced at Soren and gave a small nod.

  “There is nothing improper about appreciating the different cultures gathered here for the festival,” she said calmly. “Neko communities travel from far provinces for events like this. It is a rare opportunity to see such diversity in the capital.”

  Soren latched onto her words immediately in his defense. “Exactly. Appreciation. Cultural observation.”

  Remi snorted and gave a dumbfounded look. “Your cultural observation was blushing.”

  “I was not blushing.”

  “You absolutely were, don’t try to deny it.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Elise finally lowered her book just enough to glance at him with flat unimpressed eyes. “You’re still red.”

  “I am not.”

  From outside in the driver’s section of the carriage, Faris’s voice carried back casually inside over the noise of the streets.

  “You were definitely staring, by the way.”

  The entire carriage went quiet for half a second.

  Then Remi burst out laughing, kicking her feet in the air as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Jorge joined in with a deep chuckle, loud enough that people in the street began staring at the carriage. Even Elise’s lips twitched faintly, while Asta pouted and shook her head in disapproval at the group’s behavior.

  Soren sank slowly back into his seat, crossing his arms and staring determinedly at the opposite wall of the carriage, not wanting to give any of them his attention.

  “I was not.”

  “Of course,” Remi said sweetly.

  Outside the carriage, the vibrant streets of Celta continued to blur past in colour and sound as they rolled forward down the road.

  As the carriage turned toward the East District, Jorge looked at the rest of the group.

  “We’re getting close,” he said. “When we arrive, we’ll get registered. Then we’ll see where we stand.”

  —

  The district surrounding the Argent Ring was already alive and booming with activity.

  Guards kept the lines moving, while dozens of adventurer companies and individuals from all across Lavon stood before a wide, glimmering marble staircase that led into the coliseum’s entrance and interior reception. Around them, voices were buzzing, and banners fluttered strongly from the wind.

  The Hollow Stag Company stood among them.

  Soren adjusted the shoulder strap of his sword, which he had swapped in place of the usual sheathe at his side. He looked around for a moment and took it all in.

  Armoured warriors showing off their weapons to each other, robed mages discussing spells and applications of mana, and wild-looking fighters with feral eyes covered in warpaint. It was like something out of a painting.

  “Quite the crowd,” Faris muttered to the group, looking around with narrowed green eyes.

  “And all of them think they’re going to win,” Jorge said with a half-smile.

  Remi cracked her neck softly and snapped her fingers, sparking a flame between her index and her thumb.

  “Unfortunately, that won’t be happening, now that we’ve arrived.”

  As they moved further in the line, a long room with white high arched ceilings and stone pillars with golden detailing awaited them. There were magical sigils glowing on the walls in a faint blue colour.

  Several clerks wearing grey noble clothing sat behind ornate desks, using pens and ledgers that shimmered when information was filled.

  As they approached, a clerk glanced up. He was a young man, with short blonde hair and blue eyes. He didn’t smile, yet he still seemed very approachable, even more so than the other clerks.

  “Welcome to the Argent Ring. Name?”

  “Hollow Stag Company,” Jorge said, a hint of pride in his tone.

  The clerk nodded, and began skimming through a large book, before finding a page that glimmered the group’s name in a golden colour. He read a bit more, before writing a tick next to it and nodding again.

  “You’re officially registered to participate in the Blades Festival, Hollow Stag Company. As is for all invited participants, your schedule will be delivered this evening. Please step aside for—”

  A hush fell across the hall immediately, silencing everyone mid-conversation.

  Turning, the group watched as a figure entered. He was tall, and had a commanding presence as soon as he stepped foot into the hall. His stride was slow, but every step he took was full of weight.

  Draped from head to toe in black and silver robes lined with fine fur, his greying black hair tied back into a silver clasp, Lord Lucien Valenne had arrived. He had light beard stubble, and a mature face, though Soren had a feeling he appeared younger l than however old he really was.

  Two others had arrived with him, and followed close behind.

  A young woman, poised and proud, with loose, long black hair tied that fell to about halfway down her back. She had sharp eyes that seemed to be a mix of red and magenta, while wearing a deep crimson dress that perfectly fitted her form.

  She held herself with the maturity and stature of a woman far beyond her years, yet somehow that made her feminine and youthful features stand out even more.

  She was, undeniably, beautiful.

  Lady Serana Valenne.

  Behind her stood a blue-eyed man, clean shaven with black hair styled into a middle part of sorts. He was clad in white armor with crimson detailing, that held the sigil of House Valenne on both shoulders.

  This was Sir Cael Dravik, the personal knight of the Valenne family.

  Lucien’s gaze swept across the hall like judgement was being passed on all who were present. Some stepped back, while others bowed. Jorge gave a shallow awkward nod.

  Soren just stared at him blankly.

  “High Lord of Celta himself,” Remi whispered beside him, careful not to attract attention.

  “You’re looking at the man who’s held this city together for two decades.”

  Before anyone could speak further, the hall fell into a second, colder silence. The doors opened once more, and in stepped a line of tall, robed figures in flowing green, silver and black.

  It was Lord Vireon Silverglade, the current head of House Silverglade, followed by a handful of Elven mages and soldiers with silver tattoos beneath their eyes, and staves made of living wood that pulsed a green glow from its veins.

  Lucien’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but his face remained unreadable as he spoke.

  “Lord Vireon,” he said, with a voice that sounded like steel barely wrapped in silk.

  “Lord Valenne,” Vireon returned, his tone light and lilting as he continued.

  “Still keeping your banners flying high, I see.”

  “Only because no wind could tear them down.” Lucien replied with a small smirk.

  The tension between them crackled like electricity, and it was felt by all in the room. Some competitors exchanged wary glances, a few even stepping back.

  “Politics,” Faris murmured. “Always ruins things that should be enjoyable.”

  The clerk, now a bit tense but still professional, cleared his throat. “As I was saying, your company has been registered. Your designated stay is nearby, within the East District competitor housing. Please make your way there once you leave.”

  Serana’s gaze drifted across the hall before the clerk’s voice caught her attention, and her eyes landed on the group. She studied each of them carefully, before letting her eyes settle on Soren.

  “New faces in Celta,” she said, approaching slowly. Her voice was smooth and silky, and she spoke with an effortless warmth in her tone.

  “You’re the Hollow Stag Company, correct?”

  Jorge stepped forward calmly, and bowed. “We are, my lady.”

  Serana smiled warmly and gave him a nod.

  “Your company caught my attention, when we were doing research on independent participants to invite. It’s why I sent Asta to approach you in the first place, as she had informed me that she had a relationship with your group. I truly hope your blades are as sharp as your name is loud.”

  Asta smiled proudly, and bowed. “It was my pleasure, my lady. I feel you’ll be most impressed with the company.”

  Lord Vireon’s gaze wandered to Serana, and subsequently to the rest of the group. He glanced at Soren for a moment, before walking over to the group.

  “Young man, you seem quite young to be here, considering you’re not one of the noble children. Tell me, what is your name?”

  Soren looked at him for a second, caught off guard by the fact that a Lord would approach him so suddenly.

  “Soren Taylor, my lord.” He said slowly, trying to conceal the shock coursing through him.

  Lord Vireon’s emerald-green eyes widened just a fraction at his answer, observing Soren for a second too long. He paused for a moment, before nodding slowly.

  “I see. In any case, fare well in the tournament, young warrior. And please, do be careful… a lot of accidents happen this time of year.”

  Lord Lucien, who had been listening, turned his head fully now, eyes narrowed slightly at Vireon’s words.

  Serana turned to her father. “Shall we go?”

  Lucien didn’t answer immediately. He gave one last look to the Hollow Stags, as if filing away their faces into his memory, then turned and walked beside Lady Serana toward the grand stairway deeper into the coliseum.

  Sir Cael followed closely behind, offering the group a small nod before disappearing up the stairs as well.

  The Silverglades also left a moment after, gathering together before going in a separate direction. Before they had completely gone out of sight, Lord Vireon’s head turned back, his eyes meeting Soren’s for a brief moment, before he too was gone.

  When both groups had left, the air amongst participants and clerks alike finally felt breathable again.

  “Okay,” Soren said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What the hell was that about?”

  “Be careful how you speak around here, Soren,” Remi replied, her voice lower now.

  “Lord Vireon was giving you some less than friendly looks.” Asta said softly, a hint of confusion and worry in her tone.

  Jorge sighed after a moment, before speaking enthusiastically, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Let’s go, people. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before the first matches begin, and I’m not sure about you guys, but I haven’t eaten a proper meal in a while. ”

  The group agreed with him, and began walking to the coliseum’s exit. Soren walked a few steps behind them, watching how excited and casual they were about being registered.

  Yet he couldn’t shake one thought out of his mind, despite his best efforts.

  “Why… Why did he look at me that way?”