At Hero's Bay

Wrath of Water

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐖𝐢𝐭

𓄹 𝐊𝐑𝐎𝐖 𓄼

When Krow Vulnir arrives back into the stands of the coliseum, he expects to be seated back on the lower levels—closer to the field and at a farther distance from Y/N. If not his old seat, then the detention center. He somewhat regretted that he chose to be snarky about it; speaking to the king and queen in such a way when all he was is a friend. He's not royalty nor her advisor—just an idiot who got lucky enough to stay by her side.

However, when Ramses instead ushered him hurriedly along the spiraling stairs connected to the lower parlor, he bit back words of refusal. He was smarter than to deny his Grace, let alone provoke the queen walking up beside him further with faux charisma. He wordlessly follows their shadows, his own becoming his only company until he reaches the royal golden podium. Overhead, the bursts of fireworks are much closer now compared to his old seat, where Krow somewhat flinches at the garish and crackling hues.

The children—of whom Krow had the pleasure of being amiable with—begin pulling him closer to the finely sculpted rails, leaning near the edge where the echoes of the rampant crowd make his heart swell. The frigid and whimsical breeze exhilarates him, to say the least. And Krow all but lets the fervor abate his worries towards Y/N and himself.

"Mother decided to let her go, after all." The voice of the youngest prince nearly startles him, where Krow turns to Wisp who grins, "Y/N should be arriving soon. Excited?"

"Yes," Krow confesses with a small sigh, "But more worried. Aren't you afraid you'll see your sister wrapped in such droopy, dirty, red bandages? Have no sympathy?"

Wisp snorts, "Y/N's anger creates a fear unparalleled. Seeing her in bandages would only reassure me."

His laugh that follows is innocent, but Krow can already imagine Wisp's levity going up in smoke if Y/N had caught him saying such a thing. Krow was well-acquainted with the Skaraeith children to see what the public normally couldn't. They were rowdy and full of youth—hardly showing their eloquence or repose unless demanded by their mother. Krow found it hardly surprising.

The spectators were noticeably quieter now, their voracious raps against the stone levels no longer rumbled or reverberated throughout the great walls. No one on that grand podium could feel the rumbling at the soles of their feet, where their curious gazes now peered down into the field. Krow then realized that it was time for the next round.

The steel gates at one side of the rounded walls had yanked off the hinges. Emerging out of the dark corridor was a Kronan, wielding an iron club that was already mottled with bloodstains. Several tattered patches of cloth covered the weakest points of his massive rock body, but no one would argue that he was already sturdy enough. The Kronan stepped into the limelight and raised his club in hand, gritting his pebbled teeth.

"Bring forth my next and final victory!" The Kronan's boasting voice echoed, erupting cheers from every corner once again.

Each head of the audience then turns to the opposing gates that quietly lift open—making a calmer entrance than the Kronan's who practically ripped the gates to shreds. And stepping into the light of the crowd, Y/N Skaraeith was met with ambitious whispers and ravenous cheers. She was not even halfway out into the field before she could feel the immediate judgment.

Her armor was a pathetic excuse of protection in comparison to the Kronan whose eyes narrowed with jaundice. It seemed to be the only opinion that mattered here, as she focused solely on his creeping smile. His mind reeled back bitterly, only remembering the misplaced confidence she had before the competition began. But a mirthless and heavy laugh rang throughout the reddened sand below, where a ring of dust blustering near his feet.