The afternoon shadows stretched over the Capital Sorriso. Even so, the arena remained full. The crowd was ecstatic after the combats, and now awaited the third trial — the one where aim, focus, and balance separated hunters from dreamers:

  The Archery of Spring.

  On the marble court, targets were positioned in rows, with concentric rings from the outer edge to the center point. With every successful shot, the target floated farther back, balancing on unstable magical platforms, guided by the mana of the Spring trees.

  Each competitor had three arrows. One mistake… and they were out.

  The names began to be called.

  — Adriele Fernandes!

  The young girl walked to the shooting line with calm steps, a light bow in her hands. The crowd held its breath.

  First arrow. Bullseye.

  Second arrow. Bullseye.

  Third arrow. Perfect center.

  — Impressive… murmured TinBell, watching with a curious smile. — She has balance even in her heart.

  Lincon and Maicon followed. Despite their usual mockery, their shots were solid. One landed very close to the center, the other missed the third arrow slightly — but both passed.

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  Aníbal was called.

  — Good luck, brother, said Amélia with a slight nod.

  Aníbal raised his bow with refined precision. His usually gentle eyes turned to pure calculation.

  First arrow. Center.

  Second arrow. Center.

  Third arrow. Almost at the limit, but still inside the inner circle.

  — Impressive skill, remarked an old Summer elf. — For a variant…

  — Variant or not, replied Helena Summer, — he has the steady hand of a true warrior.

  Amélia followed. Her style was the opposite of her brother’s. No heavy breathing. No visible tension. She was… calm.

  First arrow. Inner circle.

  Second arrow. Closer to the center.

  Third arrow. Perfect bullseye.

  The crowd applauded in surprise.

  — A discreet genius, said Rubya, the White Tigress. — More focus than half the adults here.

  Other archers impressed as well:

  A tall hooded warrior shot so quickly his movements were nearly invisible.

  A Spring archer never missed, even with targets dancing in the air.

  Then…

  — Lukas Fernandes!

  This time, the voices of the crowd didn’t mock. There was no laughter.

  Only silence.

  He walked to the shooting line. The bow was simple. His hands, slightly sweaty.

  But his eyes… were calm.

  “I’m not like them. I don’t have blessings. I don’t have talent. But I have something no one can take away: the will to continue. Even when I fall.”

  First arrow. Barely at the edge. Hit the outer ring.

  Some sighed. Others turned away.

  Second arrow. Better. Steadier. Inner circle.

  Third arrow. Bullseye.

  Silence. Then… applause.

  Not as many as the others. But sincere. Real.

  “I made it this far. And no one will take this from me so easily.”

  When Lukas lowered the bow, his eyes met his father’s.

  Kyros did not smile. But he did not blink ei

  ther.

  And that… was enough.

  End of Chapter 8