King Astrell stands at six feet tall, straight-backed and immovable, a man whose height is less impressive than the way he occupies it. He settles into the space around him, like stone placed centuries ago with no intention of ever being moved. His presence carries the finality of law already written and enforced. Silver hair feeds into a carefully groomed beard, both shaped with meticulous intent. His crown has tall, pointed spikes rising upward, giving it a dramatic, regal look.Its surface is textured with a speckled metal finish, mostly gold with darker accents that add depth. Sharp, pale eyes assessed without haste, holding the calm of someone who had seen generations rise, argue, and vanish beneath his rule. Robes cascaded in layers of deep black and imperial red, heavy silks woven with intricate gold filigree that curled and coiled to life. Draped over his shoulders was a mantle of white fur, radiant and pristine. Jewels rested at his throat, fingers, and belt, set with deliberate restraint.
King Astrell barely had time to turn before solace was on him again, vaulting over his guard in a blur of motion. Solace came down with a storm of strikes, fists and kicks tearing through the air so violently it screamed around them. Each blow carried pressure rippling outward with every impact. King Astrell met her assault with surprising precision for his age, blade snapping into place again and again. Every parry rang like a struck bell, power reverberating through the space between them as sparks of force burst with each clash."Strength without discipline," he hissed through clenched teeth, driving her back half a step. "That's what happens when peasants think they're warriors." Solace twisted midair, momentum coiling through her frame, and answered with a sharp, decisive strike. Her croc cracked across his jaw with a sound like breaking stone. "Discipline without heart," she shot back, landing in a low stance as the shock rippled through him. "That's what happens when kings forget what strength is!" King Astrell staggered, disbelief flashing across his face as sand sprayed beneath his boots. Solace didn't give him time to recover, she pressed forward relentlessly, the fight turning raw and furious.
The arena dissolved into chaos as Kingdom guards shouted, fighters scattered, and the crowd roared in confusion and awe, the ground itself trembling beneath the clashes. In the stands some people leapt to their feet cheering, while others turned away entirely, pushing through the people, unwilling to remain for something that no longer felt like a spectacle.Thiago fought like a storm in red, he planted himself between the kingdom guards and solace, a living barrier of motion and steel. Every time a guard tried to break past him toward King Astrell, his weapons answered first. Blades that fit easily in his palm surged outward in an instant, towering over him to sweep attackers back.The long staff suddenly shrank, turning reach into a close-range strike, nothing stayed the same size for long. The sand around him erupted with flying metal and scrambling boots, each swing precise, every movement calculated to block, redirect, and deny.
A soldier lunged, trying to slip past his left side. Thiago reached into a pouch and a chain uncoiled from his grip, steel flashing as it wrapped hard around the man's torso. The soldier barely had time to gasp before Thiago yanked back, ripping him off his feet and dragging him bodily out of the charge. The chain shrank instantly, collapsing back into Thiago's hand as he stepped in and drove a Staff into the man's chest, launching him backward into the sand and the legs of the guards behind him. "Come on!" he yelled, grinning through the chaos. "You wanted a show, didn't you?" Behind him, the path to the King stayed closed. In front of him, the guards learned the hard way that nothing reached Solace unless Thiago allowed it. A dozen more came. He ducked, twisted, and spun. His necklace flashed, the word Pinnacle glinting in the light. For every soldier that fell, two more took their place, but Thiago didn't falter, his grin only widened.
Prince Austin Astrell strode in and stopped short. For a moment he just watched it all like he was measuring the damage, the noise, the fear. Then his eyes locked onto one clean, dangerous detail in the mess, Arlenna had a sword. "Good," he said, almost to himself. "A warm-up." He stepped into the sand, rolling his neck once, like he was getting ready for training instead of a rescue. Arlenna shifted to meet him, blade ready, stance tightening. Then they began to circle each other in the sand, boots carving shallow arcs as the arena held its breath. Prince Austin carried his presence like a storm held in check. Dark hair fell in loose, unruly waves to his shoulders. His eyes were steady, calculating the arena in a heartbeat, cataloging every detail and flaw. His suit was split precisely down the center, one side crimson, the other white, stitched with gold lines that traced constellations. A deep crimson cloak fell from his shoulders, heavy and fastened with ornate clasps.
The prince struck first. His blade gleamed with polish, every slash precise, practiced, in the way only years of formal training could make it. Arlenna answered by drawing from her left hip with her right hand, steel clearing the sheath in a sharp, fluid motion. Her counter came heavier, each strike carrying more than technique. When their blades met, sparks burst between them, the impact ringing deeper than the prince expected. "You fight well, Dim" the prince said between blows, circling faster now. "For someone born beneath us." Arlenna stepped into his next strike instead of away from it, driving her shoulder forward as she checked his blade and shoved him back through the sand. "You talk a lot, Paleo" she shot back, rolling her eyes, blade steady in her grip.
In this world, people divided themselves in many ways, but one of the biggest lines was drawn by skin tone. There were three main groups. Paleo, those with pale skin, Solace called them vampires because they couldn't stay in the sun too long without burning. Permatan covered people with brown complexions, ranging from light to deep shades. Dims were those with dark skin. Even then the line wasn't simple, dark brown alone didn't decide where you went. If someone was born dark brown and "sun kissed," like Solace, they were considered Dims. If they were dark brown without being "sun kissed," they were known as Permatan. In the Northern Continent, where mostly Paleo people lived, being Permatan or Dim meant watching your back, not because every Paleo was cruel, but because enough of them only trusted those who looked like themselves and treated everyone else as lesser, making the land dangerous for anyone who didn't fit their image.
The distance between them closed again, the clash grew heavier, each strike driven by force instead of form. The sand beneath their feet began to kick up. Prince Astrell roared and charged. Arlenna met him head-on, parried, spun, and kicked his leg out from under him. He caught himself on a palm, slashing upward on instinct. Arlenna pivoted to the side, letting the blade rise harmlessly past her, then snapped her sword up in a tight strike that cracked his weapon free and sent it spinning into the air. It clattered down a few paces away. Her tattoos glowed faintly in the sunlight, the Pinnacle mark on her arm catching his attention. His expression hardened. "You fight for that?" he scoffed. "A Sovereign crew?" Arlenna's blade stayed level, unwavering. "Watch your mouth," she said evenly. "You don't get to disrespect Solace's crew just because you don't understand it." She tipped her chin toward where his weapon had fallen. "Pick up your sword."
He hesitated only a beat before moving, boots scraping as he lunged for his sword. Their swords clashed again, the rhythm relentless, a perfect mirror to the chaos unfolding around them. Across the arena, Solace and the King battled like light and shadow. King Astrell's strikes grew desperate, his breath heavy. Solace's movements were wild but precise, her jumps almost weightless, each landing echoing through the stone of the stands like thunder. King Astrell's sword slammed into the ground where Solace had been standing a heartbeat ago. Sand exploded upward but she was already gone, blurring through the dust, her next jump carrying her above him. Each leap left a little crater where she'd launched from. The crowd gasped every time she vanished and reappeared, the air cracking beneath her weight.
King Astrell advanced blade held high and sure, his sword was broad and beautifully forged, Solace met the first blow barehanded. She slapped the flat of his blade aside with her forearm, twisted her torso, and drove a foot into his ribs. The impact knocked the breath from him, but he recovered fast, sword flashing in a brutal upward cut that would have split her from hip to shoulder, but she wasn't there. Solace vaulted, boots striking his wrist, then his shoulder, using him like terrain. She flipped over his head and landed behind him in the same breath. Her heel snapped out and cracked against the back of his knee. King Astrell roared and spun, blade whistling low. Steel bit stone where her ankle had been a heartbeat before. She jumped low, then launched herself forward, palms striking his chest. Not hard enough to break a bone, but hard enough to shove him back two full steps and ruin his footing. "You rely on reach," she said, circling. "On weight." King Astrell snarled and came at her again, faster now, anger sharpening his strikes. The sword became a storm of arcs overlapping. He forced her back, each swing meant to herd her, to trap her against the arena wall and for a moment, it worked.
Solace leapt, but Astrell anticipated it. He twisted, blade flashing up, catching her midair. The Sword slammed into her side and sent her skidding across the sand in a spray of dust. Astrell straightened, breathing hard, sword raised in both hands. "Stay down," he growled. "You cannot dance forever." Solace pushed herself up slowly, dust streaked her arms. Blood welled thin and bright along her ribs. She smiled anyway then she broke into a sprint. King Astrell lifted his sword for the killing blow. Solace jumped straight at him, twisting, letting the blade slide past her torso. Steel grazed fabric and air where flesh should have been. She drove in under the arc, rolling her shoulder through the motion to bleed off the force. Solace surged forward into his space, stealing the distance the sword needed. Her forehead snapped up and cracked into his nose. King Astrell staggered back, blood bursting free as she stayed pressed to him, relentless, already moving for the next strike. Solace stayed inside his reach, where the sword was useless. She struck in a blur, elbows, knees, fists, every movement precise and merciless. Her fist smashed into his throat, then her heel drove into his shin. She seized his sword arm, wrenched it up, and rammed her knee into his ribs again, and again.
King Astrell tried to swing. She twisted with him, using his momentum, and flipped him clean over her hip. The king hit the ground hard, sword skittering across the sand. "You lead with anger," she said. "It makes you predictable, Pick up your sword," Solace said, rolling her shoulders, body loose and ready again. "Or admit what you already know, you can't keep up." King Astrell dragged himself upright, chest heaving, eyes wild. The kingly polish was gone now. What stood before her was raw frustration and wounded pride. King Astrell snarled, blocking another kick that came from above. "You" he spat, swinging again, his composure fracturing. "You jump around like a damned frog! A crazy frog!" Solace landed behind him, grinning despite the fury in her chest. "Focus," she said. "You're falling behind."
She lunged before he could turn. Solace drove in low and fast, slipping past his wild swing and planting a precise, explosive punch straight into his chest. Her density surged on contact. The impact cracked outward through the sand beneath their feet, a shockwave ripping across the arena floor as Astrell was torn off his balance and hurled backward. He slammed into the arena wall with a deafening crash, stone fracturing on impact as dust and debris thundered down around him. The King struggled to rise, coughing and glaring, his robes fluttering wildly. "You... you crazy frog!" he spat, pointing at her with a mix of fury and disbelief. The name slipped out mockingly but the crowd immediately erupted, murmuring it among themselves.
Meanwhile, Arlenna met Prince Austin head-on. Steel rang out as their swords collided, the sound sharp and echoing, sparks skittering across the stone with every impact. Prince Austin struck first, fast, his blade cutting a precise arc meant to drive her back. Arlenna turned it aside with a tight wrist movement, the force shuddering up her arm as she slid into a counter, her edge snapping toward his ribs. He barely caught it in time, boots scraping as he pivoted away, they circled, footwork tight. Prince Austin pressed with a flurry of cuts, high then low, testing her guard, trying to overwhelm her with speed. Arlenna answered with parries that wasted no motion, her sword always returning to center, always threatening. Their weapons met again and again, metal shrieking as they locked briefly, faces inches apart, breath hot with effort. Prince Austin broke the bind and lunged, overcommitting. That was all Arlenna needed, with a sudden, lightning-quick twist of her blade, she carved a deep, deliberate gash across the side of his face, etching a sharp P into his skin.
Blood spattered across his collar and onto the floor. The prince reeled back with a strangled cry, his hand flying to his cheek. His eyes went wide as the pain hit, followed instantly by shock, then the crushing weight of humiliation. He had never been marked like this, his knees wobbled. His sword slipped from numb fingers and clattered to the ground. "I… I surrender!" he yelled, voice cracking as he staggered backward, barely keeping his footing. Arlenna lowered her blade but did not relax. She stepped closer, eyes cold, unwavering, the tip of her sword still angled toward his throat. "That mark?" she said calmly. "It's so you remember the crew." She turned away without another word, leaving him bleeding, branded, and very aware that mercy had been a choice, not a weakness.
All around, the King's soldiers froze mid-step, their attacks halted as if the arena itself had paused. The three of them Solace, Arlenna, and Thiago stood in perfect sync. The fight was being broadcast across this kingdom and beyond, every leap, strike, and act of defiance reached eyes far and wide. When the King spat the words "You crazy frog!" In frustration, the nickname echoed through the airwaves, bouncing from village to city, inspiring whispers and cheers alike. Women everywhere watched, hearts pounding, daring to imagine breaking free of their own chains. In that instant, Solace's jumps weren't just feats of agility, they were symbols of courage, rebellion, and a world ready to change.