Shami Stovall
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The Crown Tournament 3 [Chapter 5]
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 05:48:36 +0000 UTCHey peeps!
Another chapter.
ALSO, the audiobooks for the Crown Tournanment series will FINALLY start production! Sorry for the long wait. Co-authoring projects have their own hurdles, apparently. >.>
Shami
Chapter Five
Dario turned back, catching the worry etched into my face. “We’re almost there,” he said. “He’ll be safer once we arrive.” He gulped. “You know, Yumi had been avoiding this place. She didn’t want to see her family. Maybe... maybe things would’ve been better if she’d never come here.”
He fell silent after that, the weight of his words lingering between us, until the horizon peeled open and revealed the city. Shenkantin, the grand metropolis resting above the clouds themselves.
“Careful,” Dario warned as we approached. “When flying into dangerous territory. You need to shield yourself. Use your wind manipulation to create a barrier.”
He demonstrated by tracing a slow, deliberate circle in the air with his hand.
I mimicked the motion, wrapping both myself and Master Elias in a pocket of controlled wind. Wren followed suit.
“Now, through here.”
As we rose, I felt it: a strange fizzing sensation, like our bubbles were pressing through our skin. The pressure hit us all at once, a crushing wall of atmosphere that tried to squeeze the breath from my lungs. But the moment we broke through, everything shifted, the air rushed in, cool and clean. It was the crispest breath I’d ever drawn.
“The dome makes sure everyone can breathe up here,” Dario explained, “even those without wind magic.”
I glanced down at Master Elias. His breathing had grown steadier… slightly. A touch of color had returned to his cheeks, but his skin remained ghost-pale, and his breaths still came shallow.
Hyperion flew beside me, his tail flicking anxiously. “He needs more help.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why we’re going to see the Falcon. Roux said she’s a woman near the Lightning Straits who might be able to help.”
Hyperion’s amber eyes blinked slowly, a glimmer of recognition kindling behind them. Relief stirred in my chest. It was small, but real.
He nodded his massive drake head. “The Falcon? Yes... though I know her by another name. I suspect she can help. But her history with your master is... complicated. It would be best if she explained it herself.”
We touched down on one of the clouds.
“So this is Shenkantin, huh?” The words fell out of me, dull and tired. I dismounted Wren, cradling Elias’s body with care. In better circumstances, I might’ve been overwhelmed by wonder. Even the Waxing City, with all its strange rot blooms, hadn’t felt this ethereal.
Countless clouds drifted around the spherical dome, each one carrying small clusters of buildings. None of them towered, probably to avoid breaching the protective sphere. Golden filigree bridges laced the clouds together, gently swaying in the high-altitude winds but never breaking.
They couldn’t be real clouds. Real clouds weren’t solid. These were things that appeared like clouds, but were as hard as dirt. They were both beautiful and whimsical. It was a shame my heart couldn’t enjoy such things at the moment.
Hyperion touched down with a thud and then turned to Dario. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and for my arcanist.”
The syrocko drake took a cautious step onto the soft cloud surface. It seemed to ease his pain more than packed dirt had, but each motion was still laced with strain.
“It’s an honor,” Dario replied. “Many mystical creatures, drakes and others, have told me of your legendary deeds.” Then, after a pause, he added, “And I’m not finished helping you yet. This way.” He pointed to the east. “The airship station’s just beyond the arena. They built it close so tourists wouldn’t have to walk too far.”
The mention of the arena jarred me, reminding me that we still had our own battles to fight. It took three prefecture bout victories, one from each tournament site, to qualify for the finals, and we only had two. Dario had said he and Yumi completed their match before the party… but thanks to my father’s ambush, we’d arrived late.
And now?
If I entered the ring, I had no idea what would happen to Master Elias.
I clenched my jaw, forcing the dread down like bile, and hurried after Dario along the golden filigree bridge. The ground shifted subtly beneath our feet, a gentle pulsing rhythm in time with the drifting cloud below. It felt almost alive…
But I couldn’t focus on that.
Shops and faces blurred by. People. Mystical creatures. Lights. A haze of movement that my mind barely registered. One storefront boasted trinket shoes that granted flight; another vendor called out over a cart of desserts sculpted from sweetened cloudstuff, promising they'd melt like snow on the tongue.
A mystical creature lumbered past, towering over the crowd. It looked as though it had been born from the clouds themselves, its form hazy and soft, but a closer glance revealed a more terrible truth: its blood-red body under the clouds shimmered with hundreds of glaring, yellowed eyes, each ringed in shadow. Its mouths, too many of them, twisted into sneers, jagged teeth glinting behind vaporous lips.
All of it felt distant, though. Dreamlike. The same way Yumi’s caladrius chandeliers had felt the first night I wandered her home. Too bright. Too beautiful. Too far away from what mattered.
We reached the arena. It was more like a coliseum.
The whole thing was as ornate as everything else in Shenkantin, crowned in gold and white, its spiraling architecture floating above the clouds like a jewel on a silk pillow. The battle stage drifted high above the city on churning cloud platforms that spun and twisted through the air. The platforms shifted mid-fight, forcing combatants to adapt, to stay nimble or be flung into the abyss.
The familiar roar of battle rang through the air. It was cheers, jeers, frantic shouts. They echoed in my ears like memories from a different life.
“Get him! He’s just a weakling! Push him off the stage!”
“That griffon isn’t that tough!”
“Hah! Look at that grifter crow arcanist! Big talk, no bite!”
I turned, half-expecting to see Valdo and Peeter, but it wasn’t them. Just another grifter crow arcanist I didn’t recognize, and his griffon partner. They didn’t last long. The jorogumo from Team Bugging Out and his blond arcanist partner incinerated them with sweeping arcs of flame. They were powerful, chaotic, and overwhelming, even stronger than Wren’s.
I should’ve been impressed. Instead, I just thought of Valdo. If he were here, maybe he’d know what to do. But he wasn’t. He was back in the Waxing City, playing with his grandkids. Far away.
The crow and griffon arcanists plummeted through the air, landing hard on a lower cloud layer meant to catch the fallen. Phoenix and caladrius arcanists rushed to their aid, magic already glowing in their hands.
My breath caught.
Back at the Feng household, Ming-Sheng had said that if Yumi and Mika—one of the true-form caladrius—couldn’t save Elias, no one could. But maybe… maybe a whole team of arcanists could. Maybe they couldn’t fix him, but they might be able to keep him from slipping further, just long enough for us to reach the Falcon.
“Dario!” I grabbed his arm. “Here, maybe… maybe the arena healers can help! At least to stabilize him!”
Dario blinked, then nodded, eyes wide with sudden understanding. He turned sharply, leading us toward the stadium entrance. That was when I heard them. Three familiar voices, cutting through the noise and the wind.
“Amir! Dario!”
“Wait! Stop! Amir!”
“Thank the gods we found you! Amir!”
I turned and stared at my friends and their eldrin.
Finlay, Sage, and Luna!
Finlay stood at the front, tall and broad-shouldered, his muscles straining against the gray work shirt and simple trousers he always wore. Beside him loomed Sinsidius, the undead grave moth—six feet tall and terrifying to most at first glance. Its insectoid form wore a human skull mask, and its four long, tattered wings shimmered like faded velvet in the light. But beneath the eerie visage of the mask, Sinsidius was wise. Gentle. A quiet sentinel with ancient eyes.
Behind them came Sage. She was lean, lithe, her legs rippling with power even mid-sprint. Her long black hair streamed behind her, a banner of grace and speed. She wore a flowing white dress, loose but elegant, and slung over her shoulder was a worn brown bag. Kenji, the smallest eldrin in our group, poked his head from it. He was a tanuki, a kind of raccoon dog, and his soft furry face was unusually serious. Normally, he was all mischief and grins, a trickster to his core. But not now.
And trailing close behind them was Luna, wrapped in her usual loose-fitting tunic, with a purple cloak billowing from her shoulders. Even after leaving the East Sea Raiders, she still wore cloaks, but never black anymore. Her mousy brown hair framed pale, thoughtful features. Always quiet. Always watching.
Luna’s eldrin, Marik, the regal white hart, brought up the rear. The great deer’s hooves barely made a sound as he moved. Golden antlers gleaming, eyes sharp, he peered in every direction. He was alert, scanning for ambushes with every step. He moved like a prince and a predator both.
The moment I saw them, the words caught in my throat.
It wasn’t just the relief of not being alone anymore. It was that the first part of Roux’s prophecy had come true.
She had said that if I sought the Falcon, I would see my friends again. She was always right.
Maybe the rest of it would be true, too. Maybe we’d save her. Maybe we’d save Master Elias.
“How did you find us?” I asked, my voice rough. “Did Roux signal you before she ran? Draw a line in the sand or something?”
Kirin couldn’t speak to anyone but their arcanists, but Roux was brilliant. She could’ve found some way to reach them.
Finlay gave me a puzzled look. “What? No. We saw Haoyu. He was flying! Carrying Hyperion with him. Is Master Elias… is he all right?”
I blinked. Of course. That made far more sense.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Yumi tried, but… we were interrupted. Aziel and his dragons attacked before she could finish. I’m hoping the tournament healers can do something. Anything.”
Finlay stiffened, his face paling. “Wait. Aziel? Another dragon attack? But that means—”
His eyes widened. He turned, frantically scanning the crowd.
“Roux. Where is she? What happened?”
“Taken,” I whispered.
And just like that, the grief came crashing back. Speaking the word made it feel real again… horribly real. Worse than before.
Dark thoughts clawed their way in. My father hadn’t taken Roux to protect her. He’d said he was bringing her back to someone. A woman, he’d said. Someone who specialized in mystical creature experimentation and artifact crafting.
Someone who worked with him. That meant… she had to be a monster, too. And Roux was in her hands now.
“It’s okay, Amir. It’s okay. We’re with you now.”
Luna’s soft voice cut through my spiraling dread like moonlight through storm clouds.
And for a moment, I was a child again. Terrified. Alone. Back in the orphanage. Back when we did everything we could not to be adopted, because being taken meant slavery, or a camp, or worse. Being fed to a manticore. And somehow, something worse had happened. To her. To us.
“This is just like the orphanage,” Luna said. “We’ll find a way out. We always do. Just like when I found you again.”
She gently reached out, brushing her fingers against mine. They were cold. Ice-cold, as always, actually. But the touch warmed something in my chest that even Wren’s fire never could.
She was right. We were together again. And we’d find a way.
Even with a true form caladrius, Master’s injuries were that bad? Something terrible had already happened to us. But we’d survived worse.
I shook my head hard, trying to clear it, then slapped both cheeks… sharp, stinging hits to force myself to focus. “You’re right, Luna. We can do this.”
Wren stepped beside me, flames coiling faintly at the corners of his mouth. “My arcanist, you don’t need to carry this alone,” he said, his voice rich with heat and reassurance. “Whenever the burden becomes too much, we’ll push forward together. Now, let’s get Master Elias back on his feet.”
I nodded and tightened my grip around Master’s body.
Together, we went into the stadium.
I shouted, “Help! Competitor injured! We need medics!”
At first, the crowd reacted with confusion, some with irritation. They yelled back at me.
“Hey! No cutting!”
“What are these kids yelling about?”
But then Wren reared back and released a blast of fire high into the air, scattering the crowd and grabbing their attention like a thunderclap.
“Back off!” he roared. “We’ve got a Master Arcanist down!”
The mood shifted instantly. Recognition flared in the crowd.
“Wait, that’s Wren’s Winning Team!”
“By the good stars, it’s the Red Wind! The Red Wind is hurt!”
“Someone get the medics! Move!”
The noise surged behind us, but we didn’t have to shout anymore. The crowd parted like the sea under Wren’s fire, and tournament medics in white robes sprinted forward, a flurry of urgency and magic.
Two caladrius arcanists and a phoenix arcanist surrounded Master Elias. They pressed glowing hands to his chest, his temples, and his gut. They were channeling wave after wave of healing energy into him. But he didn’t stir.
His chest didn’t rise any easier. His eyes stayed closed. The magic poured into him like water into cracked stone. Nothing took.
The medics glanced at each other. I saw the worry flicker behind their eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, voice tight.
The phoenix arcanist, a stocky woman with a crown of unruly red hair, winced. “This is… bad. His organs are in disarray. Some have already started to shut down. And he’s stiff. Rigor mortis has set in, even though the wound looks recent.”
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing at the wound on his chest.
“This… this is ghoul magic,” she muttered. “A strong one. Maybe even true form magic.”
I nodded grimly.
“Ghouls manipulate disease,” she continued. “Their artifacts can delay death or accelerate it. In his case, it made things worse. The damage stuck and his body’s dying faster than it should.”
Then she pointed to the center of his chest.
“And this. He cauterized the wound himself. Good move in the moment. Without it, he would’ve bled out. But sealing it shut like that… made it much harder to heal.”
“Yumi said the same thing,” I murmured.
The woman blinked. “Yumi Feng? The true form caladrius arcanist?”
I nodded.
“Well... that explains why he’s still breathing,” the woman muttered. “She must’ve done everything she could to stabilize him. And she did a hell of a job. But…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t need to finish.
“But what?” I asked anyway, already knowing I didn’t want to hear the answer.
“But there’s nothing we can do. His injuries are too deep. His body’s failing too fast. The healing was rushed. If Yumi had weeks… maybe… she could’ve undone it all. But as it is…”
Weeks.
Even with a true form caladrius… weeks wouldn’t have been enough? I stared at Master’s face. Still pale. Still breathing, but only just.
How many miracles did we have left?
The talisman I’d placed around Master Elias’s neck crumbled to dust.
“I can get him a new one,” one of the medics offered, their voice laced with doubt. “But I’m not sure what good it’ll do. We might be able to buy him a little more time, but...”
“Excuse me,” came a voice. It was polite, measured, yet firm. “If you’ll allow me, I believe I can help. I can’t cure your master, but I can keep him alive until you find someone who can.”
At this point, that sounded better than anything else I’d heard. I turned to see a tall, thin man in flowing blue robes, adorned with sweeping patterns of white and frost. Recognition struck like flint against steel.
“You’re from Winter’s Ruin,” I said.
He inclined his head. “I am. The name’s Sylvester.”
Sylvester’s skin was unexpectedly dark for someone from a snowbound region. It was rich, deep brown that stood in striking contrast to the glacial hues of his robe. His posture was youthful, but his face carried the weight of years, flecks of silver threaded his beard, and fine lines carved themselves deep into his brow.
At first glance, the creature behind him looked like a hulking yeti. It was tall, shaggy, and monstrous. White fur blanketed its body, and it moved with a heavy, bestial gait.
But then the illusion slipped.
The creature shifted, and the fur melted away into tendrils of shadow. What emerged was no yeti.
The ijiraq.
Sage had told me about it once that a mystical creature known for its ability to alter its form, cloaking itself in disguise. But it always kept one trait: piercing red eyes.
For the briefest moment, its true form surfaced. A twisted, patchwork blend of man and caribou. Its human-like torso was pale and cold, streaked with wild patches of coarse brown fur. Its limbs ended in cloven hooves, and its long black hair hung in a single braid down its back. Shadow coiled around its body like garments, as if darkness had chosen to dress it.
Then, just as quickly, the creature shimmered again, transforming into something far less threatening: a tanuki, nearly identical to Kenji, save for those unmistakable crimson eyes.
“An ijiraq arcanist?” Sage asked, narrowing her eyes. “You wield ice and shadow magic... How exactly can you help?”
“I’m a healer of sorts,” Sylvester replied. “More accurately, a preserver.”
He lifted one hand. Frost crackled at his fingertips, curling into the air like tiny snowflakes dancing on invisible wind.
“Zarimoria is a land of extremes. Molten deserts and frozen peaks. My people have lived alongside mystical creatures for generations, but nature doesn’t play favorites. When disaster strikes, when time runs out, I preserve the wounded until a true healer arrives. It’s not a cure. But it’s a reprieve.”
He paused, meeting my eyes.
“Please. Let me help your master.”
So... he wanted to freeze Elias. Suspend his body. Stall death until we could find someone who could do more.
I hesitated. It sounded suspiciously like an attack, and after everything we’d endured, trusting another team felt like asking for a knife between the ribs.
Sensing our hesitation, Sylvester stepped forward urgently.
“Please,” he said again. “It would be my honor. My father fought in a previous Crown Tournament. He always spoke of your master, Elias of the Red Wind. He said Elias was noble, skilled, chivalrous. A legend.”
He clenched a fist, his voice turning brittle.
“My father should’ve won. But he was ambushed, cut down by a villain. Aziel Theano. The Gray Fang.”
His voice cracked.
“In an earlier round, Aziel killed my father’s eldrin. Slaughtered one of his teammates too. My father made me swear: if I ever had a chance to help another victim of that monster, I would.”
If that wasn’t enough to sway me, what happened next was.
Elias coughed violently. Still unconscious. His body convulsed as a thick wave of blood spilled from his lips.
I turned to Sylvester. “All right. Please. Help us.”
Because at this point, it was our only choice. And time had already run out.
The other tournament healers nodded grimly. “This magic is experimental, nothing we were taught in the academies. But given his condition... experimental might be your best hope.”
Sylvester knelt beside Master Elias’s body, performing the same diagnostics the others had, his expression tightening with each passing moment. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I can see why even a true form caladrius couldn’t fix this. What a mess.”
He whispered something under his breath, then pressed his palm to Elias’s chest. A cool white mist flowed from his fingers, curling like smoke caught in moonlight. Behind him, his ijiraq’s red eyes flashed once, flaring with hidden power.
The mist spread slowly over Master’s body, seeping into every wound, every gap, every breathless space. It didn’t bite like frost… It soothed, stilled. Elias’s chest continued to rise and fall, but slower now. Steadier.
Exactly as Sylvester had promised.
“He’ll remain like this,” Sylvester whispered, “until you find someone with the skill to fully heal him. My ijiraq’s preservation magic is gentle enough to be reversed by a competent healer, but if the one undoing it isn’t good enough, he’ll go right back to dying.”
So we would have to wait. For the Falcon. For the Lightning Straits.
I adjusted Master Elias’s body across my shoulder again. His weight no longer dragged me down like it used to. That surprised me. I realized, somewhere along the line, the desert training had changed us both. It hadn’t just been a test. It had been preparation.
“Amir,” Finlay called. He stepped forward, digging into his pack. “We fished this out of the water before we came here. It fell when Master Elias was shot. We couldn’t just leave it behind.”
From the folds of his pack, he withdrew Solarbrand.
Master’s sword.
The legendary weapon shimmered faintly in the light. Its golden edge was laced with a faint crimson hue. Forged with syrocko drake magic and the spine of a twilight dragon… the same species of eldrin my father had once controlled. Solarbrand held both light and fire within its core, a blade that had cleaved through warlords, monsters, and gods.
I stared at it.
Finlay held it out to me. “He’d want you to have it,” he said. “I know he would.”
I hesitated. Taking it felt... wrong. Like I was stealing a part of him. This was his weapon. His legacy. His symbol.
But we needed it.
And if Master were awake, I already knew what he’d say: It’s just a sword. A tool. Use it. He never cared for sentimentality.
I buckled the scabbard at my waist, right above the small trinket blade I had forged for myself, years ago. My first weapon, and now dwarfed by what I carried.
“Let’s move,” I said. “Roux told me about someone who can help. The Falcon. She lives by the Lightning Straits. Dario was just about to commission an airship when we found you.”
My friends nodded. Without another word, we turned from the stadium, away from the noise, the battles, the final bout.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe walking away from the Crown Tournament, from the Ascension Crown, from everything Master had trained us for… Maybe that would doom the world. Maybe Elias would wake up and slap me for it.
But not today.
Today, I made the choice.
I held his unconscious form tighter and whispered into his ear. I didn’t know if he could hear me. Maybe it was better if he couldn’t. Because he’d definitely be furious.
But I said the words anyway.
“Sorry, Master. But this is just like when I bonded with Wren instead of that pyroclastic dragon. I love you too much to do anything else.”
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Comments
Shami Stovall
Thank you!
George R
Great chapter
