Storm caught the rock and stopped. He had never heard the old man mention anything about a tournament before, and the thought of one stirred his competitive nature. It seemed that Caim had a similar reaction, as he sat up straight, his eyes brightening.

“It used to be known as the Two World’s Tournament, but now it is mostly known as the Soldier Games,” said Ronin, “and it is an event that all of Soria gathers to watch. Only there will you find the strongest of our world and the answer to your question.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about it before?” Storm asked.

“Maybe because I knew the moment you two heard of it you’d run off and try to enter. You weren’t ready before, and I doubt you’re ready now. But I think it’s time you know what it is. I wasn’t joking when I said you two were grass before the great tree in comparison to the strongest of this world.”

“Well, when’s it happening?” Storm asked. “When’s the next Soldier Games?”

Ronin looked up at the two moons as if they mysteriously held the answer. They hung like pearly pendants in the sky, nearly a finger’s length apart. They would soon eclipse one another, bringing forth the Neo-Solar Eclipse that marked the beginning of the new cycle.

“The Soldier Games,” Ronin said carefully, “happen once every ten cycles, seven days before the eclipse.” He pointed to the moons. “You boys know the time well. And if I’m not mistaken, the last Soldier Games was well . . . ten cycles ago.” He laughed, more to himself than any. “What do ya know?”

Storm felt butterflies in his stomach. “Then the next one’s soon!”

“Couple of days at most,” said Ronin.

“Our birthdays are soon!” Caim exclaimed, pointing at the moons. “I’m going to eat so much food!”

“We should go and fight,” Storm said, his expression radiating intrigue. “In the tournament! I mean, c’mon, this sounds like the perfect thing for us to do now that we are full-fledged swordsmen now, right?”

“You’ll likely die,” Ronin said bluntly. “Despite the name, the tournament is far more dangerous than a game. Thousands upon thousands of sorians have died attempting to write their names into legend since the tournaments began a few hundred cycles ago.”

“Die?” Storm repeated, his pride burning. “We just beat our final swordsmanship test, Ronin. We earned our swords, and I doubt there’s anyone else in this world that has to go through the things you make us go through.”

“Regardless,” said Ronin, “you aren’t ready. Plain and simple.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” said Storm, his tone sharp and his pride wounded. He found something within that he knew would get back at the old man for doubting him. “You’re not even my real grandfather. If I want to go and enter this tournament, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Ronin met Storm’s eyes and held them.

Caim glanced nervously at his brother.

Despite Ronin’s silence and the fire in his eyes, Storm held his glare. If only for a moment, Storm felt the old man’s energy shift slightly, and he knew that Ronin knew he was right. He was a full-fledged swordsman now, and it wouldn’t be long until they were seventeen, their coming of age.

“Storm . . .” Caim started, but was cut off by their grandfather.

“The Soldier Games isn’t for amateurs,” said Ronin. “I wasn’t embellishing. You’ll die if you enter . . . most do. In fact, there was only a single Risian hero of the last games, and the Falians have never won. Let that sink in, Storm. The Falians have never won, in all the history of the Soldier Games.”

Storm gulped, but tried not to show it on his face.

“The trials are dark and daunting in ways you can never expect,” Ronin continued. “They will rip the fear out of your deepest unconscious and manifest it until you wish that you had never laid hands upon a sword, until you wish you’d never been born. But it won’t end there—not until it has broken your mind in every way but one, leaving only the singular desire to bring upon your own end.”

Caim looked at Ronin. “Grandpa, have you ever fought in the games?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Ronin was still for a long while, his eyes locked on Storm’s. Then, just like that, he turned away and the pressure from him diminished. Storm let out a deep breath and felt triumphant in not backing away from the old man’s stare.

“Actually,” said Ronin, “I have. I was fortunate enough to leave with my life, but my comrades were not as lucky. In the end . . . I—I lost.” He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself, choosing instead to take a long drink of his wine.

“You lost!?” Caim cried out incredulously. “Are you sure!? That’s impossible!”

Ronin forced a laugh. “Well, I lost to you two, didn’t I?”

Maybe it’s better to ask him about it later, thought Storm. He could feel the sadness in the old man’s voice when he had spoken about it, and now everything he had said about the dangers of it were clear as day.

Silence consumed the three of them for many long minutes. Caim’s eyes followed Ronin as he stood up and walked away, toward the cliff’s edge. For what felt like an eternity, the three of them did not speak. Caim watched Ronin from afar. Storm pulled his hood back over his head, trying not to feel bad about what he had said to his grandfather by distracting himself with thoughts of the tournament. But finally, it was Ronin who broke the silence after walking back over to them.

“If you are going . . .” Ronin started, and Storm’s eyes lit up. “If you insist on going—and I mean to watch the games, not participate in them—I’ll be needing you to bring me back a few things from Trestles.”

“The capital?” Storm asked. “Is that where it is? I’m still not convinced this isn’t another fairy tale.”

“If you want to find the strongest of our world,” Ronin said, “then you should go and see if it’s a fairy tale for yourself. Maybe you’ll learn something . . . about wings and heroes.” The same touch of sadness had not left his voice, and it made Storm feel even worse about how he had spoken to him earlier.

Storm stood up and spoke in his truest voice. “I’m going, then. I don’t know why, but I have this strange feeling that I need to go, like I don’t have a choice. I want to see the strongest of this world for myself.”

Without even the slightest hesitation, Caim spoke as well. “Me, too. I need to be stronger. Stronger than anything if I’m going to become the Dragon King.” He smacked his fist into his open hand. “That’s my dream. I finally decided. I’m going to become a myth. I’m going to become one of the greatest legends to ever live! The hero of heroes!”

“I think if anyone can,” said Ronin with a grin. “It would be you.”

“Yosha!!” Caim cried. “You hear that Death!? I’m going to be the Dragon King!”

Storm rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help letting Caim’s enthusiasm bring a smile to his face.

“You sure you wanna let us go?” Storm asked. “Even just to watch?”

Ronin shrugged, then whispered something that he couldn’t understand. Storm decided not to question it, then stood up and walked over to his katana, which was leaning against the edge of their cabin. Grasping its hilt, he felt a strange energy upon touching it, as if it were an acceptance of a new path, a new fate.

Wings and heroes, he thought. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Storm sheathed his katana to his side. “You said Trestles? That’s the capital of Falia, isn’t it?”

Ronin felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “You always were one to make up your mind in a single moment.” He eyed Storm’s stature, knowing his grandson well. “Leaving so soon? Without sleep?”

“Sleep can wait,” said Storm. “And you said it’s in a couple of days, right? I want to see if this is actually real . . . and I know you want wine from the town, so this had better not be some elaborate trick to get us to find some mystical, non-existent tournament just because you were too lazy to get your own drink.”

“Don’t be disappointed,” said Ronin, as if reading Storm’s mind. “No matter what, you won’t be able to enter.” He looked at Storm for a good long while, before finally pointing to the west. “It’s about a four-day trek from here if you aren’t traveling in haste. You’ll want to pass through Neverend Forest, then beyond Senyria Lake where the Great Tree rests. After that, it’s about a half day to the capital. It lies at the opposite end of Falia, just before the Bridge that Ties Worlds. It’ll be the closest you boys have ever been to Risia,” Ronin added, and Storm noticed another slight shift in his tone.

“Risia,” Storm said under his breath. “The land of Nobility . . . Home to the Empress.”

Storm looked over at the towering trees of Neverend Forest. There was a soft breeze brushing past them, swaying the branches ever so gently. It was as if he could feel the very forest breathing. Turning back around, Storm looked at Ronin, who was grinning surprisingly.

“What is it?” Storm asked, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade.

Ronin shrugged and turned to face Caim, who was snoring softly on the grass. “It seems one of you understands the importance of rest, even if he didn’t have to think about it to realize it.” Storm stared at his brother, then up at the sun which was still high in the noon sky.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get a little rest before we go,” said Storm reluctantly. “But I’m leaving tonight, with or without Caim. There’s no way I’m risking missing this tournament. I don’t think I’ve been so excited about something since, well, I don’t even know . . .”

At that, Storm walked over to their cabin. Resting his sheathed blade back against the side of it, he walked around and showered. Coming back without a shirt, Storm could see Ronin preparing the campfire for the night.

Stretching up his arms to the sky, Storm smiled. His arms were still sore and aching from everything he had gone through, but there was a certain pride in his spirit that made it all worth it. Walking over to their island’s single tree, he glanced down at the training sword, then shook his head, choosing instead to lay down on the grass. Thinking only of the tournament and what challenges it would bring, he closed his eyes.