Subterra: Dark Relm

Part 9: Shadows of Drakara: Path to tournament

In the Kingdom of Drakara, near the Border of Eldoria and Drakara

(The transport wagons rattled along the rocky roads, carrying warriors and citizens from across the kingdom to the capital. Inside one of the transport vehicles, the tension was thick, but the silence felt heavier. Galen sat among the warriors, his eyes scanning the other fighters, listening but keeping to himself.)

(A fighter sitting across from him suddenly broke the silence.)

Fighter 1 (Krelan):   I’m feeling bored already. Why are you all so quiet? The journey’s long, and we’ve still got hours ahead of us. Might as well talk, right? You’re all sitting there like you're saving energy for the fight by not even opening your mouths.

Fighter 2 (Milo):  (calmly)  It’s better not to get too friendly. It’ll be harder to show no mercy if we end up facing each other.

Krelan: (shrugging)    Maybe, but I just want to pass the time. You can call me Krelan, if that makes you feel better.

Milo:  I’m Milo. I’m not from around here. Since you started talking, why don’t you fill me in on this tournament? I’ve heard things, but you probably know better.

Krelan:  (grinning)  Sure, why not? But first, how strong are you? Why are you even joining this tournament?

Milo: (with a modest smile)  I’m not that strong. I just want to experience the thrill of fighting. Whether I win or lose doesn’t really matter to me. I heard that all participants get treated well—best food, drink, a comfortable bed, even... entertainment, if you know what I mean.

Krelan: (laughing) Yeah, that’s true. They treat you like royalty, but keep your wits about you. It only lasts as long as you’re in the competition. Some people join just for those few days of luxury.

Milo: (raising an eyebrow) Is that so? What’s the prize for the winner?

Krelan: (leaning in) "The reward is whatever you want—almost. You can wish for anything, except things like the royal crown. It’s all up to how you present your wish to King Theron. There’s been one guy, though—won three tournaments in a row. He’s ruling over a village now, and no one dares oppose him.

Milo: (frowning) That sounds... brutal. What’s his story?

Krelan: (with a grim look) They say he’s unstoppable. His rule is cruel, and the villagers live in fear. The women and girls there... well, they suffer the most. He acts like Malakar, taking whatever he wants. Some enter the tournament to become like him; others join to try and take him down.

Milo: (nodding thoughtfully) He sounds like a monster. Is he really that strong?

Krelan: (with a smirk)  He’s powerful, no doubt, but I’ve got a feeling his winning streak ends this year.

Milo:  I’ve heard Prince Kael’s strength is enough to rival Malakar’s. Is that true?

Krelan: (grinning)  Prince Kael? He’s strong, sure. But not that strong. His power might be comparable to some warriors back in the day, but don’t go expecting him to match Malakar himself. There was one fighter who went up against Malakar during his rage and managed to hold him for while. Can’t remember his name, but he was a beast.

Milo: (impressed)  You sure know a lot about this stuff.

Krelan: (laughing) Everyone does. You just can’t stop me once I start talking about this. My head’s full of stories.

(Throughout the conversation, Galen remained silent, listening carefully. He didn’t engage but absorbed every detail Krelan and Milo shared. As the wagon finally neared the capital city, the towering walls of the King’s palace came into view. The tension in the air thickened as the fighters realized their destination was close.)