Fade To Black, The Curseborn Saga, Book 1

Chapter 8 - The World Tournament

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."