As Emma walked beside her mother along the cobblestone streets of Wellington, a nagging thought lingered in her mind. How will I manage in Eldo-Clearoth Kingdom? She could already imagine herself stumbling over foreign words, a stranger among people she didn’t understand. The idea made her stomach tighten, but she glanced at Vivian, walking with her usual composed grace.

At least Mom’s here. She’ll keep me safe, Emma reassured herself, taking quiet comfort in the thought.

When they arrived at the carriage, the driver was nowhere to be seen. Vivian glanced around, frowning slightly. “It seems he still thinks we’re in the restaurant,” she said. Then, turning to Emma, she smiled. “Emma, dear, wait for me inside the carriage. I’ll go look for him.”

Emma nodded obediently, climbing into the carriage. Vivian kissed her lightly on the forehead before walking back toward the town square, her footsteps fading into the distance.

Left alone in the carriage, Emma leaned back against the plush seat, staring out of the window. The minutes ticked by, and the stillness began to itch at her. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, her mind drifting. Eventually, the quiet boredom became too much.

She stepped outside, greeted by the warm breeze and the faint neighing of the horses. They were white as fresh snow, their sleek coats shimmering faintly in the sunlight. Emma ran her hand gently along one’s neck, its fur warm and soft under her palm. The horses whinnied softly, leaning into her touch, and for a while, it was enough to keep her entertained.

But then, faint noises began to rise in the distance—a rhythmic roar of voices. It sounded like a crowd, their cheers and shouts echoing through the town. Emma paused, her hand resting mid-stroke on the horse’s mane.

What could they be celebrating? she wondered. Curiosity bubbled up inside her, and before she could think better of it, her feet were already moving toward the sound.

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Crossing the street, she found herself in an alleyway. It was narrow and slightly cluttered, the ground uneven with scattered debris and discarded scraps of paper. A faint smell of damp stone and lingering smoke filled the air. The walls on either side were adorned with fading posters, their edges curling with age, and a flickering light orb hung crookedly from a metal bracket.

As Emma ventured deeper, the noises grew louder. The cheers were a mix of excitement and ferocity, their intensity making her pulse quicken. She followed the sound, her steps cautious yet determined, until the alley opened into a larger space.

What she saw left her breathless.

It was a makeshift arena, carved out of the urban landscape. The center was a large circular platform made of polished obsidian, its surface gleaming under the glow of magical orbs that floated above. Around it, spectators were gathered in a chaotic array—some standing on raised platforms, others perched precariously on ledges or crates. Every corner of the space seemed alive with people, their faces alight with anticipation and adrenaline.

The air was electric, humming with an energy that seemed almost tangible. Emma’s eyes darted across the crowd, taking in the mix of humans, elves, and other creatures. Many were dressed in rugged attire, their clothing marked with the wear of travel and battle. The air smelled of sweat, iron, and faint traces of magic.

Her gaze finally settled on the center of the platform, where two fighters stood facing each other. Each held a sword that shimmered faintly with enchantments, their blades pulsing as though alive.

One of the fighters, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, had blood dripping from his forehead, the crimson streak stark against his pale skin. His breaths came heavy, his chest heaving as he adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Opposite him stood a leaner figure, a woman with sharp features and eyes burning with determination. Her left arm was streaked with blood, a shallow but angry cut visible just below her elbow. Despite the injury, her stance was steady, her blade poised with lethal precision.

The crowd roared, their cheers and jeers blending into a cacophony that made Emma’s stomach churn. Some shouted encouragement, others mocked, and a few simply watched with unnerving glee.

Emma’s hands clenched at her sides as she took in the scene, a wave of disgust washing over her. Why are they fighting like this? she thought, her heart pounding in anger. And why is everyone cheering as if it’s entertainment?

Her gaze swept across the chaotic scene once more—the spectators, the fighters, the raw violence of it all. The cheers and the clash of blades reverberated in her ears, drowning out everything else.

What is this place? she wondered, a slight shiver running down her spine.