Tonight marked the grandest of nights in all the Realm. The long-awaited annual tournament where the Regal Vanguard of each of the six great factions would clash within the colossal arena to claim the coveted title: The King of Fighters.

  It was one of the prestigious events that united the entire Realm. Superhumans, nobles, commonfolk are all welcome, at least those fortunate enough to find their way inside. Each faction sent forth one champion, six in total, to face one another in a contest that would test not only strength but mastery, cunning, and control. The battles were not to the death, though everyone knew that pain and bloodshed were inevitable before the night’s end.

  The match was set for the hour when the moon rose high, eight o’clock by the old clocks, the entire capital was already awake with fervor. Banners of every color rippled in the breeze, merchants flooded the streets, and the air trembled with song, drink, and anticipation. For a world still clawing its way back from ruin, this night was a brief illusion of peace, a reminder of what glory once was.

  While most of the wealthy and noble filled the grandstands, the Cogworks Consortium had erected massive brass screens outside the arena, their gears humming and sputtering steam so that even the poorest could glimpse the spectacle.

  As the sun finally sank and shadows devoured the horizon, the first of the Council Members began to arrive.

  Leroy came first, precisely two hours before the opening bell — aboard his gleaming steamcarriage. He wore a deep green military coat, medals clinking softly on his chest like the sound of old war ghosts. His beret sat at an angle, shadowing his stern eyes as he stepped down onto the crimson carpet that led into the Grand Hall. The crowd murmured his name, half in reverence, half in awe.

  Ten minutes later, the air shimmered with silver light — the arrival of Starmist, the most beautiful lady of the House of Star. She wore a short crystal-white dress that glowed under the lamps, refracting light like broken constellations. On her right eye, a tattoo in the shape of a radiant star pulsed faintly with ethereal luminescence. Beside her was Starlax, draped in a long, midnight-blue gown that shimmered as if woven from fragments of the night sky. The younger woman bore the same star-mark, mirrored upon her left eye.

  The crowd gasped, enchanted by their celestial grace. Even the guards seemed momentarily entranced.

  Moments later, Amaterasu arrived. Her entrance was less ostentatious, yet the silence that followed spoke louder than applause. She wore a crimson-and-white kimono embroidered with golden suns, her long dark hair bound with an ornate comb carved from obsidian. Her eyes, rimmed in vermilion, burned with quiet fire.

  Five minutes passed. Then came the rumble of hooves.

  A black carriage, heavy as a coffin and pulled by black horses, drew up before the gates. From it descended Lucretius, draped in a black tuxedo lined with subtle ivory bones that traced his collar and cuffs. At his hip hung his sheathed blade — an artifact of death and memory.

  He was not alone. Two figures followed: Princess Samartian and Prince Morrigan, heirs of the fallen King Darkon. Samartian wore a dark gown with a hood drawn low, a jade-studded headband glinting beneath the torchlight. Morrigan, dressed in formal black like his father’s echo, bore bone-etched patterns across his coat that whispered of the underworld’s touch.

  Cygnus Spellbane did not arrive by carriage, nor by foot.

  Without ceremony, without crowd, he stepped through a portal of violet flame, emerging directly within the heart of the Colosseum. The old man’s presence silenced even the wind for a heartbeat.

  He wore a deep-purple suit lined with silver threads, his cane more an emblem of authority than necessity.

  Another steamcarriage halt at the crimson carpet. From within stepped Professor Bjorn, wrapped in his trademark fur-lined white coat, followed by Elysius, with a white, ceremonial armor traced with thin golden filigree. Upon his brow rested a delicate crown of intertwined golden branches, gleaming softly beneath the light.

  Unlike the others, their arrival was met with cheers — a wave of joy that rippled through the crowd. They descended the steps laughing, exchanging words and gestures with the commonfolk as though they were among equals, not gods. Bjorn’s deep, booming laugh mixed with the delighted cries of children calling his name. Elysius waved gently, his youthful face bright and unburdened.

  For a brief, strange moment, they looked less like members of the Council — and more like heroes from forgotten tales.

  Even Leroy, Starmist, and the others could say nothing. They simply watched.

  Then the air was split by the voice of the announcer, echoing from the colossal brass speakers mounted above the arena.

  “Tonight’s matches will consist of two battles!

  The first: Burgess of the Weapon Masters versus Sigurd of the Cogworks Consortium!

  The second: Figar Raidbones — known as War — of the Abyss faction was to face Susanoo of the Elementalists!

  However, following the god of thunder has urgent business. His replacement shall be Gruk of the Sorcerer faction!”

  Five minutes after Bjorn’s arrival, another name stirred the air.

  Starfall, the true heir of the House of Star — arrived.

  He should have been fighting in the arena tonight, but fate had robbed him of a worthy opponent when Susanoo out of contest.

  He entered alone.

  A white suit, immaculate as new snow. A blue scarf coiled around his neck like captured sky. His white hair fell loosely over sharp, angular features, a jawline carved from defiance, eyes cold as tempered glass.

  The crowd erupted as he passed. Women screamed his name, others reached out their hands, desperate to touch the air he walked through. Yet Starfall did not acknowledge them. His hands remained buried in his pockets, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

  He walked directly past Bjorn and Elysius, who were still surrounded by admirers, without a single glance.

  Many among the crowd adored Elysius, a prodigy elevated to the Council while barely past his youth.

  The Celestial Faction, his own, had once again refused to send a representative to the tournament. The Council had deemed it too dangerous for him to fight — too valuable, too fragile to risk.

  Inside the Grand Hall, beneath a ceiling of gilded iron and light-crystals, the Council and honored guests gathered.

  Starmist spoke softly with Leroy and several Weapon Masters.

  “You look looks more beautiful than usual, Starmist.”

  A blue flush crossed Starmist’s pale cheeks.

  “You flatter me, Leroy. But I could say the same for you, that jacket… does it not belong to your days as a young officer, before you bore your relic?”

  Leroy laughed quietly — not the laugh of pride, but of memory.

  “Aye. The same. Back when I thought medals meant something.”.

  Outside, the crowd roared once more as the drums of the opening ceremony began to thunder.

  Among the soft laughter and murmured music of the Grand Hall, Starlax caught sight of Leroy. Her eyes brightened instantly.

  “Uncle Leroy!” she cried, and before he could react, the young woman darted forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  He chuckled, his medals clinking faintly as he returned the embrace.

  “It’s been too long, Starlax.”

  She grinned and pointed at the cluster of medals across his chest.

  “Are all of these real? You must have fought a hundred battles to earn them!”

  Leroy’s gaze softened, drifting for a moment toward memories that smelled of smoke and iron.

  “Not a hundred,” he said quietly, “but enough to know that none of them were worth the lives they cost.”

  Starlax fell silent. Then, gently, she smiled. They spoke a while longer, their conversation light, full of warmth.

  But Starmist, watching from afar, had already turned her eyes elsewhere.

  Across the hall, the heavy doors opened, and Starfall — her eldest nephew — entered. His expression was calm, but the sharpness of his eyes betrayed a storm within.

  Leaving Leroy and Starlax behind, Starmist moved toward him, heels echoing softly on marble.

  “What’s that look for?” she asked, falling into step beside him.

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  Starfall exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and mockery in his tone.

  “Because of that stupid god, I don’t even get to fight tonight.”

  Starmist frowned. “And if you had fought, are you sure you could win?”

  Her question wasn’t meant to provoke — only to test the arrogance she had long despised in her brother’s bloodline.

  Starfall smirked. “Of course, my ever-caring aunt. Have you forgotten who I am?”

  He reached into his pocket and revealed a small, glowing shard of crystalline light pulsing with otherworldly energy.

  The Arc Crystal of Zerulyth.

  A relic not of this world, one that could only be wielded by those born of the House of Star.

  The shard’s glow danced across his palm like liquid lightning.

  “Starfall!” Starmist hissed, quickly covering his hand with hers. “Hide that—now! If anyone sees you carrying that thing, does your father even know you brought it?”

  Her voice trembled, a rare crack in her composure.

  Starfall pulled his hand free, his tone laced with cold defiance.

  “Relax, aunt. It’s useless now anyway. My chance to use it has already passed.”

  He turned and began to walk away, not bothering to look back.

  “Oh, and by the way,” he added, his voice drifting lazily over his shoulder, “who’s arrived so far?”

  “Almost everyone,” she replied, watching his back fade into the corridor beyond the hall.

  Without another word, Starfall disappeared into the gathering chambers where the Vanguard members waited.

  Elsewhere, near the inner balcony Amaterasu sat with Cygnus.

  She wasn’t alone. Beside her stood a small girl, shy but radiant — Vine Viper, the newest Plant Elemental. Barely twelve years old, she was wrapped in living vines that bloomed faintly with each breath, a crown of orchids draping over her fiery red hair.

  When Cygnus turned his gaze toward her, she stiffened, clearly nervous.

  He noticed, and his tone softened.

  “Do not fear me, young girl. The last Plant Elemental was a dear friend of mine.”

  The Sorcerer Supreme bowed slightly, his deep violet cloak brushing the marble floor.

  Vine Viper hesitated, then smiled, a small, uncertain smile.

  For a moment, even the great Cygnus looked almost human.

  “Of course, it’s an honor to meet you, the great Sorcerer Supreme,” said Vine Viper softly, bowing her head in shy reverence.

  Amaterasu smiled faintly from behind her, both hands resting gently on the girl’s shoulders — a quiet reassurance that she was safe.

  Cygnus regarded the child with his usual calm intensity. “Tell me, young one,” he said, leaning slightly on his cane, “how goes your progress in nurturing the plants?”

  At first, Vine Viper hesitated. This was her first appearance before the other factions. Her words caught in her throat, but when Cygnus’s tone softened again, a spark of pride began to bloom in her chest.

  Across the hall, Starlax was still chatting animatedly with Leroy, laughing between sips of her drink, until a familiar voice called from across the chamber.

  “Hey, Starlax!”

  A young man’s voice, playful yet confident.

  She turned and there was Morrigan, standing by the marble wall, one hand holding a glass, the other resting lazily in his pocket. His faint smile glimmered in the torchlight.

  Leroy followed her gaze and smirked.

  “Go on,” he said. “Your friend’s waiting.”

  Starlax beamed and darted off toward Morrigan, her excitement bright and unguarded. The two had shared many small assignments together. In those journeys, they had become inseparable companions — perhaps something more than that, who knows.

  Watching from the balcony above, Lucretius appeared beside Leroy, his black coat blending with the shadows. Together they looked down at the two youths laughing below.

  “I never imagined the future queen of the Abyss would come outside from this realm,” Lucretius murmured dryly.

  The Green Wraith turned to him, brow slightly raised.

  “The pact between Lord Star and King Darkon is final then,” Leroy replied with a slight surprise.

  Lucretius gave a quiet hum of agreement.

  “For now,” Leroy continued, eyes still fixed on the pair below, “let them remain children a while longer.”

  The Fallen Knight allowed himself a rare, faint smile. “As it always does.”

  With the clock edging closer to the hour of the tournament’s opening, Lucretius straightened his coat. “Come, we have to do something first.”

  “Agreed,” said Leroy.

  The two Councilmen moved swiftly across the hall, passing Starmist, who was now engaged in conversation with a group of noblemen. She turned as Leroy approached.

  “Tell Bjorn to join us once he’s free,” Leroy said. “We won’t be long.”

  Starmist nodded, watching them leave.

  Several nobles exchanged uneasy glances. “Is everything all right?” one asked.

  Starmist turned to them with a calm, diplomatic smile.

  “Perfectly under control,” she assured. “The Council is merely tending to a few final preparations.”

  Her poise eased their worry, though not entirely.

  As the nobles drifted back to their drinks and gossip, Starmist allowed her gaze to linger on the great banners of the arena beyond the windows — banners that bore the insignia of the six factions, fluttering in the rising wind.

  Despite the politics and rivalry between them, House of Star held a unique place — nobles among nobles. That status allowed her to move easily among both human aristocrats and alien dignitaries without fear of insult.

  Many princes and heirs of powerful houses had once courted her, seeking to bind their lineage to her star-born blood. Yet she had refused them all — gently but firmly. Her heart still belong to the Council.

  Win the hand of Starmist was, to many, a dream greater than any crown.

  Among the extraterrestrial Houses, House of Star was famed not only for its power but for its beauty — a race whose form mirrored humanity so closely that many poets claimed they were the gods’ attempt to perfect mankind.

  And among them, Starmist shone brightest.

  In one corner of the hall, laughter rippled among the gathered nobles.

  “Lady Starmist is truly extraordinary,” said the king of the southwest province, his tone light with admiration. “Perhaps my son’s proposal was declined not for lack of worth, but simply because he wasn’t ready for someone of her kind.”

  His words drew chuckles from others.

  “Indeed!” replied a nobleman from the northwest, lifting his glass. “Tell us, Lady Starmist, do you have a type? Perhaps we can teach our sons to imitate that man!”

  Before she could answer, the nobleman’s wife leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

  “Or is there already someone special, my lady?”

  Starmist merely smiled — a small, enigmatic curve of her lips — and took a quiet sip of her wine. The gesture was answer enough.

  Seeing her expression, the nobles laughed softly, exchanging knowing glances. None pressed further. They all understood that whoever won her heart would be the luckiest man in all the Realm — if such a man even existed.

  Moments later, the great doors opened again.

  Bjorn and Elysius entered the hall together. Without hesitation, the pair made straight for the banquet tables, piling their plates without the faintest regard for decorum.

  Across the room, Cygnus, Amaterasu, and Starmist exchanged the same look the weary glance of those who had long given up trying to teach them restraint.

  Amaterasu sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do they ever stop eating in public like common mercenaries?”

  Cygnus finally approached. His voice was low, but his tone cut like a blade.

  “Would it kill you two to behave like Council members for once?”

  Bjorn looked up mid-bite, utterly unbothered.

  “Relax, Let the people see us as human for a change,” he said.

  Cygnus muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a spell of patience, while Elysius, red-faced, bowed slightly. “I’m sorry, Master Cygnus.” He quickly excused himself and slipped away, leaving Bjorn to his feast.

  From across the hall, Starlax and Morrigan noticed her departure.

  “He doesn’t seem too happy,” said Morrigan, leaning on a marble column. His eyes flicked toward the young Plant Elemental, Vine Viper, who was now being escorted by two Forest Maidens toward the arena gates.

  “Look at that girl,” he whispered. “I heard every Plant Elemental is born from one of the Forest Maidens.”

  Starlax tilted her head. “Makes sense. They’re the ones closest to the forest’s heart.”

  “Then by that logic,” Morrigan countered, smirking, “the Dark and Fire elementals should come from my faction.”

  Starlax laughed. “You’re not wrong, that faction is quite mysterious.”

  From nearby, Starmist, overhearing them.

  Morrigan raising his cup slightly toward her in salute.

  As the sound of the crowd outside began to swell — the hum of tens of thousands awaiting the games — Starlax turned to her aunt.

  “Aunt Starmist,” she said cheerfully, “Morrigan and I will head to the arena first. We’ll meet you inside.”

  “Go ahead,” Starmist replied. “And stay near the guards. The night will be… volatile.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Starlax said brightly, tugging Morrigan’s sleeve. The two slipped into the corridor leading to the colosseum, their laughter fading into the echoing halls.

  The marble corridor behind the Great Hall was dimly lit, and Starlax had lied to his aunt that they hadn't gone to the arena first.

  Starlax and Morrigan walked side by side, their footsteps echoing down the long hallway. The noise of the crowd from the main arena was now distant—replaced by silence, broken only by the hum of the massive machinery that powered the Colosseum.

  Along the walls stood statues of victors, the King of the Fighters had ever known. Each was carved from marble, iron, or obsidian, depending on the faction they once represented.

  Each pair of eyes that once burned with ambition now stared eternally ahead, frozen in victory.

  "They all fought here," Morrigan murmured, tracing the nameplates with her gloved fingers. "They all shed their blood for glory."

  Starlax nodded. "And they all became legends... or ghosts."

  They stopped in front of the first podium, to see the all stars.

  Kludd – Champion of Year 12

  Martel – Champion of Year 13 and 16

  Aqualord – Champion of Year 14, 15, and 22

  Raidbones – Champion of Year 17 and 18

  Years 19 & 20 – The Tournament Canceled.

  Starfall – Champion of Year 21 and 23

  Susanoo – Champion of Years 24, 25, 26, and 27

  “The God of Storm won four years in a row,” Starlax whispered. “No one’s ever matched that.”

  Morrigan sighed as they passed the last of the statues, his eyes lingering on the colossal figure of Susanoo, the storm-god.

  “It’s a shame he’s absent this year,” Morrigan muttered. “I was hoping to see him win five years in a row. He will become inevitable after that.”

  Beside him, Starlax stopped before another monument, one that gleamed faintly even in the dim corridor light.

  Starfall.

  Her elder brother.

  Morrigan glanced at her and caught the faint sadness clouding her features.

  “Things still rough with your brothers?” he asked softly.

  She exhaled. “Rough? No. Just… distant. They only care about themselves.” Her tone was flat.

  Then she looked up at him, forcing a small smirk. “What about you and your big sister?”

  Morrigan laughed under his breath. “Same as ever. Cruel, arrogant, and sometimes violent, but she’s family.”

  That drew a small, genuine smile from Starlax.

  At the far end of the hall stood a heavy iron door, its brass sign reading:

  “Vanguard Members Only.”

  They stopped. Neither spoke.

  They stared for a moment, until the hinges creaked. The sound was sharp, sudden.

  The door opened, and voices spilled out loud, overlapping, fragments of laughter and argument echoing through the corridor.

  Starlax gasped, and the two of them ducked behind the statue of Starfall, pressing close to its marble base. Morrigan leaned forward, peeking around the edge.

  “Hey,” he whispered, grinning like a child about to steal fire, “want to see something cool?”

  Before she could answer, he reached into his pocket and pulled out five small vials. Each shimmered faintly, filled with a translucent liquid that caught the torchlight like mercury.

  Starlax blinked. “Are those—?”

  “Invisibility draughts,” he said proudly. “one hour per dose. Enough time for a little adventure.”

  She stared at the bottle in her hand, the faint glow reflecting in her eyes.

  “You’re planning to sneak in?”

  Morrigan smirked. “Come on. We came all this way — you really want to spend the night watching the fights, right?”

  Starlax hesitated, torn between sense and curiosity. “These potions are expensive, Morrigan. You’re just giving one to me?”

  He uncorked his own vial, the scent of alchemical vapor filling the air. “Don’t worry about it. Who knows — maybe next year, we won’t get to come at all.”

  That made her pause. Then she smiled — warm, reckless, the way only the young can when they stand too close to danger.

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s make it worth it.”

  They clinked the glass vials together like a toast.

  And with one shared grin — the grin of conspirators about to do something unforgettable — they drank.