The healers hurried onto the field as soon as the fight ended, white-blue lights sparking from their hands as they mended my opponent’s arm. Another referee rushed over to me and gave me a quick once-over, making sure I hadn’t taken any critical hits. He must’ve decided I was fine, because he nodded and pointed me toward the exit.


    The roar of the crowd hammered my ears once more as I staggered down a short tunnel that led to another waiting area. As soon as I walked in, a cluster of students turned away from a large viewing window and came rushing over.


    “Do you know who that was?”


    “How’d you do that?”


    “He’s a prince, you know!”


    The questions hit me too fast. I felt dizzy from all the attention, so I made my way over to a big sofa and practically flopped onto it. My ears still rang from the cheers, and my heart pounded harder than it had during the fight.


    “I don’t know who that was,” I said, trying to steady my breath. “Should I have?”


    A wide-eyed human girl spoke up. “That was Prince Evarion, the second prince of the Silvercrest Kingdom. He’s actually favored to take the throne if his older brother steps down. Everyone figured he’d breeze through this tournament.”


    Another kid chimed in. “Yeah, word is he’s been training with the best knights since he could walk. He’s never lost a duel—until now.”


    I swallowed hard, trying to process it. Sure, the guy had acted like a privileged jerk, but I hadn’t pegged him for royalty. My stomach churned a bit at the thought of having beaten up a prince on my very first day.


    “Guess that explains the crowd chanting his name,” I murmured, leaning my head back against the sofa. “Well, too late to worry about that now.”


    A few of the kids murmured their agreement, and they finally gave me some space. As they moved off, I exhaled slowly, letting my heart rate come back down. Nobody had warned me I’d be fighting a prince—let alone one who was apparently famous. I stared at my hammer, still dusty from the arena, and wondered how this might affect the rest of my time at Stoneharp College. For now, though, I was still in the tournament… and Prince Evarion was out.


    Once my breathing steadied, I checked over my gear. It felt a bit silly, but I always used a smaller hammer for percussive maintenance on my main hammer—just tapping away to ensure nothing was cracked or loose. The last thing I wanted was to have my own weapon snap in the middle of a fight, like what happened with Evarion’s sword.


    As I concentrated on my makeshift tune-up, another kid wandered by. She stopped to watch for a moment, curiosity evident in her posture. Her skin looked like the bark of a pine tree, with thin ridges and patterns that almost resembled wood grain. Her hair was a deep evergreen, cascading down her back in thick strands like pine needles.


    “How did you not know that was the prince?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.


    I shrugged. “It’s not like he was wearing a nametag.”


    “A nametag?” She blinked, considering the idea. “I guess that would work. I think you’re supposed to just know who he is.”


    I gave a half-smile. “Well, guess nobody told me. What’s your name?”


    “Sylra Pinebranch,” she said with a friendly nod. “I’m a treeling. Kind of like a dryad, I guess, but we’re less magical and a bit more… solid.” She tapped one finger against the bark-like skin on her arm for emphasis.


    I set my little hammer aside for a moment, turning to face her fully. “Nice to meet you, Sylra. I’m Gromli.” I reached out a hand to shake hers. “Sorry if I caused a stir.”


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She shook her head, returning my handshake carefully—her hand felt firm, almost like a smooth piece of polished wood. “No worries. I just thought it was kind of funny you didn’t know who Evarion was. Don’t be surprised if folks keep asking.”


    I sighed, glancing at my hammer. “Yeah, I’m bracing for it. Guess I’ll go down in history as the dwarf who smacked a prince’s sword clean in half.”


    “In fact,” Sylra continued, “I think that sword might have been important. You could be in trouble after this.”


    I shrugged. “If they don’t want a broken sword, they shouldn’t swing it at me. Accidents happen all the time.”


    “Hopefully Evarion will feel the same way,” Sylra said, a slight frown crossing her features.


    “Hopefully,” I echoed, not entirely convinced. Trying to steer the conversation away from broken swords and angry princes, I asked, “So did you win your fight?”


    Sylra laughed, a sound like wind through branches. “Of course, silly. This is the winners’ room. They don’t want fighters mingling with each other right after a match unless they both won. Emotions can run high, you know?”


    “That makes sense,” I said, tapping the broken remains of a shield lying nearby as a reminder of how heated things could get. After a moment, another question popped into my head. “How come everyone here seems to know what’s going on better than I do?”


    Sylra gave a casual shrug, the bark-like texture of her skin shifting with the motion. “There’s no nice way to say it,” she began.


    “I come from a small town?” I ventured.


    “Well, probably,” she admitted. “A lot of us have been training or learning about the college’s customs for years. Even if we’re not nobles or royalty, there’s usually someone back home who made sure we were up to speed. You, on the other hand… guess you never got the memo that this tournament would be filled with famous names and important heirlooms.”


    I sighed, thinking back to my life among the dwarves, fixing tools for the local smith, whacking away at rocks. “Yeah, guess not. I’ve been winging it so far.”


    Sylra gave a reassuring smile. “Hey, you won, didn’t you? That’s more than some of these ‘experts’ can say. Just stay on your toes. Evarion won’t be too happy about losing, especially if that sword was something special.”


    I glanced at my hammer and tools, wondering what kind of fallout might be heading my way. “Well,” I muttered, “no sense fretting now. I’ll deal with trouble if it shows up.”


    Sylra nodded. “Exactly. For now, maybe just enjoy the win—and keep an eye out for the next match.” She patted my shoulder gently, her bark-like fingers strangely soothing. “You did good out there.”


    Her words offered some relief, but a nagging worry still gnawed at the back of my mind. If that sword was really important, I might’ve just won the fight and lost a whole lot of peace in the process. Only time would tell.


    I wasn’t sure how many matches they’d planned for the day—another detail I should’ve paid more attention to—but it turned out I had two more fights. Neither was as tough as facing Evarion; if I could swing a hammer hard enough to break rock, I could definitely crack a person’s defenses. Plus, I started noticing just how naturally strong dwarves are compared to other races. Sure, we’re short, but there’s a lot of power packed into our stocky frames.


    By the end of my second fight, the tournament officials called it a day. I was worn out from the intensity—the noise of the crowd alone was enough to leave my head pounding. Once they finally dismissed us, I headed back toward the dorm, wanting little more than a hot shower and a good meal. Grok caught up with me on the way. He told me he’d only won his first match before getting knocked out in the second. At least he seemed to be taking it well; he just shrugged and said he’d do better next time.


    We walked back to the dorm together, and I wasted no time grabbing a quick shower. The hot water felt amazing after all the sweat and adrenaline of the day. Refreshed, I made my way down to the cafeteria, where the scents of stew and freshly baked bread nearly made my mouth water. I piled a bowl high and grabbed a cold glass of juice, then scanned the room until I spotted the group I’d met the night before—Kora, the black-feathered harpy, Leela the elf with green hair, Tanri the cat-eared boy, and Sylra with her bark-like skin. They waved me over, and I flopped onto the bench beside them.


    “Hey,” I said, managing a tired grin. “Long day, huh?”


    They nodded sympathetically, already deep in conversation about the fights and the buzz around campus. I dug into my stew, half-listening as they debated who might be going to the next round and whether Evarion’s defeat was the biggest upset in recent years. My eyelids felt heavy, but I was content to just sit there, savoring my meal, and let the chatter wash over me. After all the day’s excitement, it was a relief to be among friendly faces, even if I mostly wanted to curl up and sleep. As I finished my stew, I couldn’t help wondering what tomorrow would bring—and if I’d have to keep watching my back for any revenge-minded princes. For now, though, the hot food and company of friends were enough to ease my worries.