Banner of shame

The grand arena of Valious pulsed with life, banners snapping in the wind as tens of thousands gathered to witness the clash of kingdoms. Each banner bore the emblem of a legendary sword — symbols of power, pride, and ancient legacy. The air thrummed with excitement, tinged with tension.

Above the roaring crowd, the voice of Sir Marlen rang out clear and strong. "Welcome, lords and ladies, warriors and spectators! Today, the heirs of the Seven Kingdoms stand ready to prove their worth in the Tournament of Honor!"

From Valmire, the fallen kingdom, stepped forward Prince Jyn Argren, his crimson eyes scanning the vast arena. His sword, Elthan, though broken, radiated a faint, determined glow — a symbol of a kingdom's shattered hope yet unbroken spirit.

Around him, champions from Craven, Dirval, Serran, Turkan, Hilmar, and Yufal prepared, each ready to fight for glory and their people's future.

The crowd's roar swelled as Liora Craven, the fiery-haired warrior from the kingdom of Craven, stepped into the arena. Her eyes burned with fierce determination, and the blazing blade N'Groth flickered in her grasp like living fire. Flames danced lightly around the sword's edge, a terrifying sight that set the stands ablaze with excitement.

Behind her, Shade Dirval moved silently, a shadow among the light. Cloaked in mystery, his swift movements were nearly impossible to follow. His sword, Mirka, seemed to absorb the light around it, a weapon of darkness and deadly precision.

Across the field, Seraen Dalen from Serran adjusted her grip on Alenor, the sword of wisdom. Calm and calculating, she scanned her opponents with sharp eyes, a strategist ready to outthink and outfight her rivals.

From the brutal kingdom of Turkan, Brak Toran entered the arena, muscles rippling beneath his battle-worn armor. His crimson sword, Brakus, dripped with a faint, ominous glow—whispers of bloodshed and raw strength. His presence alone sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.

Kael Hilmar, swift as a storm, stepped in next. Clad in light armor, his sword Iskriel crackled with the energy of lightning, reflecting his lightning-fast reflexes and unpredictable strikes. His eyes flickered with a sharpness that promised a fight no one would forget.

Lastly, Nora Yufal, the pure-hearted warrior of Yufal, walked calmly, her sword Lindra shining with a radiant white light. Known for her healing magic and unyielding spirit, she carried the hopes of her kingdom with grace and courage.

The arena fell silent as the contestants took their places. The Tournament of Honor was about to begin—a dance of blades, strategy, and fate.

Sir Marlen's booming voice filled the arena once more. "Let it be known: This tournament is no mere contest of strength. It is a crucible where destinies will be forged, alliances tested, and betrayals revealed."

He gestured toward the grand map displayed before the crowd, illuminated by enchanted flames. The Seven Kingdoms spread like jewels across the land:

Valmire, the fallen kingdom, whose broken sword Elthan symbolized lost glory and desperate hope. Craven, home of the fiery N'Groth, where warriors burned with fierce passion. Dirval, shrouded in shadows, masters of stealth with Mirka at their side. Serran, the land of wisdom, guided by Alenor's light. Turkan, the brutal warlords wielding Brakus. Hilmar, swift as the storm, with Iskriel crackling in hand. Yufal, pure and steadfast, guarded by Lindra's radiant power.

"The stage is set," Sir Marlen declared. "May the strongest rise, and may honor guide their blades."

The crowd erupted again, voices rising in anticipation.

The first round began with a thunderous clash. One by one, the young warriors faced off in fierce duels. Swords sang as steel met steel, each strike echoing through the arena.

Jyn moved with careful precision, remembering his father's lessons — control, patience, and never letting emotion cloud his mind. Against his first opponent, a skilled fighter from Hilmar, he parried and countered, landing a decisive blow that won him the match.

Across the field, Liora's fiery blade scorched the air, overwhelming her opponents with speed and raw power. Shade used shadows to confuse and strike unseen, leaving his foes disoriented and defeated.

Seraen's tactics and calm mind carried her through, while Brak's brutal force broke through every defense. Kael's lightning-fast strikes dazzled the crowd, and Nora's healing magic kept her fighting longer than anyone expected.

The tournament had begun — a fierce battle for honor, glory, and the future of the kingdoms.

The second round was a test of teamwork, with three-versus-three battles that shook the arena. Jyn found himself paired with Nora and Kael, forming a fragile alliance forged by necessity.

Their opponents—Liora, Brak, and Shade—were a dangerous mix of firepower, brutality, and cunning. The crowd roared as spells ignited the air and swords clashed with thunderous force.

Jyn coordinated with Nora's healing and Kael's swift strikes, trying to outmaneuver their foes. Sparks flew as strategy battled strength, every move a gamble.

The arena trembled with the intensity of the fight. Friendships were tested, rivalries deepened, and the true weight of the Tournament became clear: victory was only the beginning.

The tension in the arena grew palpable as the semifinals approached. Jyn's body ached from the battles, but his resolve burned brighter than ever. The crowd's cheers blurred into a roaring sea of sound as he prepared to face the fiercest opponents yet.

Whispers of alliances and betrayals wove through the stands. Shadows lurked among the spectators — spies and traitors waiting for the perfect moment.

Jyn tightened his grip on Elthan's broken hilt, remembering his father's words: "You win by being the last one standing."

The tournament was no longer just a contest; it was a war of wills, honor, and survival.

The final moments before the decisive battles crackled with electricity. Jyn's eyes locked with Liora's fiery gaze across the arena. Both warriors bore the weight of their kingdoms' hopes, and neither would back down.

Around them, the air shimmered with the power of ancient swords—Elthan's faint glow, N'Groth's roaring flames, Mirka's dark shadows. The ground beneath their feet seemed to pulse with anticipation.

The announcer's voice echoed once more: "This is the moment where legends are born and fates are sealed. Fight with honor, fight with heart."

The crowd fell into a hush, the tension so thick it could be cut with a blade.

Jyn stepped forward, sword raised. The Tournament of Honor was reaching its boiling point.

The final clash erupted like a storm unleashed. Jyn and Liora circled each other, their blades sparking with fierce energy. Every strike was a test of strength, skill, and willpower.

Around them, the crowd watched breathless, witnessing a battle that would be sung for generations. The broken sword Elthan pulsed with dark power, responding to Jyn's determination.

A misstep in the arena—the slightest hesitation—cost Jyn dearly. Liora's blazing blade found its mark, and the prince stumbled.

The judges' horn sounded. The tournament was over.

Jyn bowed his head, pride wounded but spirit unbroken. He had earned second place, but more importantly, the path ahead had only begun.

The fall of Valmire was coming, and the true battle was yet to come.