The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the cobbled courtyard. Smoke drifted lazily from the forge chimneys, and the rhythmic hamring of Galvir’s hamr echoed in the air. Adrien leaned against a wooden post as Damien approached, carrying two tin cups of water.
"I’m telling you," Damien said, handing one over, "if I get matched up against that brute Kael, I’m throwing the match. Not because I’m scared—just don’t want to bruise his ego too badly." "Oh, how noble of you," Adrien replied dryly, accepting the drink. "Co on. Ti you t the rest of the circus."
They passed through the side gate and rounded into a quieter yard behind the smithy. Fenrik sat under a tree sharpening a curved dagger, while Galvir was inspecting the edge of a glowing iron blade, muttering to himself in Dwarvish. "Fenrik," Adrien called. "Galvir. This is Damien. He’s loud, good with a spear, and thinks he’s charming."
Fenrik didn’t look up. "So... just like you then?"
Damien blinked. "Was that a complint or an insult?" "With Fenrik, it’s usually both," Adrien said.
Galvir grunted, lowering the sword and squinting at Damien. "Hmph. Spearman, eh? You got calluses on your hands or is your grip as soft as your smile?"
Damien laughed. "Well, I’ll try not to poke you when you’re sleeping."
"That’s the spirit," Galvir muttered with a nod of approval. Adrien leaned back against the tree and sipped from his cup. "So... I’m joining the Evermoon tournant." Fenrik finally looked up. "You are?"
"Yeah." Adrien’s tone was calm, but firm. "I’ve been hiding too long, scraping by in the shadows. I need to test myself. See where I stand with real fighters, real threats. Maybe even draw out a few... interesting reactions." Galvir raised an eyebrow. "That’s not just about a fight, is it?"
"It never is," Adrien replied with a shrug. "But the stage is big enough, the prize tempting enough. And soone out there might be watching." Fenrik studied him for a long mont, then nodded slowly. "Then you’d best be ready. The Evermoon is no ga." Damien clapped Adrien on the shoulder. "Good. Because I was planning to win until you decided to crash the party."
Adrien smirked. "Then I guess I’ll just have to ruin your day." Damien chuckled, brushing his hair back with a mock bow. "Ruin away, shadow boy. Just don’t trip over your own dramatic cloak on the way to the finals."
Fenrik snorted, clearly amused, while Galvir gave a gruff laugh. "If the two of you spent less ti flapping your jaws and more ti training, maybe I wouldn’t have to patch up your broken ribs later."
Adrien tilted his head. "That’s why I keep you around, Galvir. Free dical care and the occasional lecture about dwarf tallurgy."
Galvir raised a hand with a mock glare. "One more word and I forge your boots out of lead."
Damien leaned in toward Adrien and whispered, "Does he always threaten people with artisanal violence?" "All the ti," Adrien replied. "You get used to it."
Fenrik stood and sheathed his dagger. His eyes were calm, but thoughtful. "The Evermoon draws more than fighters. Nobles, rchants... spies. If you’re trying to stay quiet, entering a city-wide spectacle isn’t exactly subtle." "I’m done being subtle," Adrien said softly, staring into the sky as the sun dipped below the rooftops. "It’s ti the world saw what’s coming. Even if they don’t know what they’re seeing yet."
A silence fell for a few breaths. The kind of silence where unspoken truths settled heavy in the air. Damien broke it with a light tone. "Well, if it helps, I’ll make sure no one gets to you before the finals. You’ll owe a drink, though."
Adrien looked at him with a half-smile. "If you make it that far, I’ll buy the whole tavern." Galvir wiped his hands on a cloth and tossed it over his shoulder. "Bah. Talk, talk, talk. If you two don’t get moving, the Evermoon will co and go while you’re still debating shirt colors." Fenrik turned, arms crossed. "He’s right. If you’re going to do this... make sure you win. Not just for the prize. But for the ssage." Adrien’s expression sharpened, shadow flickering faintly in his eyes as he nodded. "I don’t plan to lose."
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