Everybody leaned in as six grey flowers appeared out of thin air, separating into pairs. She waved her hand and they floated closer to her. There were names engraved on the roses, one that she was trying to read. “Miria Staffa, Limare!” 

A woman pushed her way through the crowd, strutting to the stage as if it was made just for her. The Limare sect danced and swayed in celebration as Miria waved at the crowd, showing the glint of her blades attached to her hips. Pink streamers exploded, filling the stadium with different scents. Ira coughed, scrunching her nose as the putrid smell hit her. 

“Plume Pera, Ditas!” The Ditas clapped respectfully as one of them gave the tall faerie an encrusted whip for her to use. As Plume stood at the podium, Miria was already inching towards the Ditas faerie. It was bound to be an interesting match. 

 “The next pair! Joshua Hina, Vidia!”

“Kaden Tamad, Poribus!”

Almost simultaneously, the two male faeries appeared on the stage. Ira recognized the two, having beaten them at combat once when they were just a few years in. She hadn’t seen them since. The Vidia and Poribus sect cheered, clapping from their seats. Although they weren’t the most elaborate in displaying their competitiveness, she could already see them eyeing each other down like a predator analyzing its prey. 

Now, for her sect…

Ira leaned in a bit closer, so close that she could almost grasp the faerie’s hair in front of her. May the devil be within her, please. “And the next pair!” The speaker grabbed the last two flowers, the lights shifting in anticipation.

 “Damien Arkathe, Rumia!” There was silence, cold, dead silence before the Rumiae finally threw their customary ribbons into the air, glittering in white before exploding into miniature fireworks. But from the way they glanced at one another, she could tell that they weren’t happy with the arrangements. A lean figure stood from his seat, his dark curls falling right past his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care. He had a grin that seeped nothing but arrogance, and Ira could already hear mutters of resentment from her kind as he strutted to the stage. The Rumiae and the Prihans have always been pitted against each other, so it was normal to feel the rivalry between them.

 “Next,” she said and the crowd all went to silence. “Ira Eralis, Priha!”

She was chosen! This was it. Ira stood up and flicked her hair to the side, suddenly energized by the Prihans’ fists being rattled to their seats, the ones at the front, releasing streams of fire into the air, trailing her steps as she walked through the crowd. Her wings folded against her back as she reached the stage, taking the flower from the faerie and raising it to her kind, tilting her chin up as they yelled even more, raising their weapons up in the air. She avoided the calculating gazes of the Prihan Elders as she placed a hand on her hips.

This was it–her time to prove herself.

Ira turned to her competitor, staring into his luminous gold eyes before taking a bow. He did the same, with a stare to rival her own.

Inceperat Vestimortis.

It has begun.