Game Day
The next morning, the Ludus Magnorum began. Fleurein, the City of Flowers, would not sleep—had not slept for days—and would not for many more to come. The streets were already stirring with people, the air brisk with the scent of spring blooms. A few days earlier, the competition schedules had been posted all over the city, proclaimed by royal heralds and printed in the daily papers. The newspapers themselves had released special editions, detailing each contest and its contenders. Some offices had been working day and night to keep pace with the festivities.
It was six in the morning. A pale gold light fell across Lisabelle’s porch as she read the newspaper just delivered to her gate. A porcelain cup of tea steamed beside her, and a small vase of lilacs—freshly cut from the garden—perfumed the table.
In the back garden, Viena had just finished helping Eleanor scatter fertilizer over pots brimming with violets and budding roses.
“Lily, what are you reading?”
“Today’s paper,” Lisabelle replied, her eyes still scanning the columns. “I’m thinking about the best route for our walk today.”
She tore off half a page and handed it to her sister so they could read together. With a tap of her finger, she pointed out the section listing that day’s events.
“Any contest you especially want to watch, Vivi?”
“There are so many… I can’t decide.”
“We’ll take turns. Whatever we watch today, we won’t watch again tomorrow. That way, we’ll see every event at least once, and then you can pick your favorites.”
Viena nodded, her legs swinging beneath her chair in excitement. She read aloud from the list: swimming, sprint, arm wrestling, archery, solo-sailed skiff, long jump… Names both familiar and strange, each sparking fresh curiosity.
“Is this all the competitions they’re holding?”
“Of course not. This isn’t even half of it. Some events start later—either because the venue needs changing, the field takes time to prepare, or simply to keep the audience interested.”
“Ohh, I see… In that case, I’ll just follow your lead. We’ll see everything eventually.”
Lisabelle smiled, folding the paper and ruffling her sister’s hair.
“Then we’d better get ready. I’ll bathe first, and you can clean up right after.”
“Okay!”
Viena and Lisabelle were now on their way to watch the sprinting competition. The race was to be held on a broad stretch of open grassland just south of the city. Eleanor came along as well, carrying a picnic basket filled with snacks and lunch for her two granddaughters. Smoked fish sandwiches, fresh fruit, and citrus tea had all been carefully packed for the day — she had not had the chance to spend a proper outing with them in quite some time.
“Grandma, are you feeling okay today?” Lisabelle asked.
“Yes, don’t worry about me. How could I possibly feel frail when everyone these days is so eager to shout and laugh at the top of their lungs?”
“Granny, let me carry the basket!” Viena quickly took it from Eleanor’s hands.
“Oh? Sweet child, thank you.”
They continued their walk until the field came into sight. Lisabelle stopped short, momentarily taken aback. She remembered this place vividly as nothing more than a windswept pasture where cattle sometimes grazed. But now, the transformation was astonishing.
Rows of timber pavilions had been hastily erected, their canvas roofs dyed in Rosmayne’s colors and fluttering in the cool spring breeze. Long trestle stands, fashioned from rough-hewn planks and braced with rope lashings, rose in tiers for the spectators. Wooden railings marked the lanes of the running track, the turf packed and rolled firm for the racers’ footing. At several points along the field stood raised wooden daises — simple platforms of oak boards set upon stout trestles — where heralds and officials would oversee the contests. Beyond the track, banners streamed from tall poles, their fabric snapping lightly in the wind, and here and there small awnings sheltered vendors selling meat pies, sugared almonds, and steaming mugs of spiced cider.
“This looks… a little dangerous,” Lisabelle muttered under her breath, eyeing the swelling crowd. Eleanor caught her words.
“Wow! Lily, look! That person’s selling strange food!” Vivi’s voice burst out in delight before Lisabelle could get a reply. She darted away, pointing at a vendor’s stall brimming with colorful skewers and steaming clay pots.
“What an energetic child,” Eleanor chuckled.
“Agh… what a nuisance. Our money is at risk if we let her sample everything she sees. And honestly, this is ridiculous—why are there so many people here? Aren’t there plenty of other events to watch?” Lisabelle complained, her eyes sweeping the sheer number of heads packed into the field.
From beside her, an older man with a weather-beaten face answered with a hearty laugh.
“Ha! Pretty girl, don’t you know? This place is tame compared to the others! The real madness is at the open-duel arena. Word is, they’re starting with a free-for-all—up to twenty fighters at once! The round’s survivors will be the last ten still standing after ten minutes. Now that’s chaos!”
“R-Really?” Lisabelle blinked, momentarily distracted from her grumbling.
“Lisabelle,” Eleanor interjected in her calm, matriarchal tone, “your little sister is so small she will vanish in no time in this crowd. Go after her. I’ll stay here, at the entrance. Meanwhile, you two can explore a bit before the race begins.”
“Goodness gracious, I forgot! You’re right, Grandma! Where did that little bean go?!”
“The little one with the rabbit ears? She headed that way,” the old man said, pointing past a row of trestle stands where the smell of roasting meats drifted in the air.
“Thank you, sir! Grandma, we’ll be back soon! Save us a seat, okay?” Lisabelle called over her shoulder as she dashed off.
The man gave a knowing grin as Eleanor lingered beside him. Around them, the festival’s southern field had been transformed from an ordinary grazing pasture into a spectacle of timber and canvas. As Lisabelle disappeared into the bustle, Eleanor and her new acquaintance began to chat idly, letting the time pass until the races began.
“Wow, that was amazing! Did you see that man from Zarim? His legs were so long and thin—like a grasshopper’s—and he ran so fast! For a moment, it looked like his feet weren’t even touching the ground!” Viena’s voice was bright with excitement, her hands gesturing wildly as if to capture the speed she had just witnessed.
“It was my first time seeing someone run like that too,” Lisabelle replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Not just him—the others were quick as well. Four of them finished so close together, it was almost impossible to tell who was first.”
“I always thought your mother was a swift runner,” Eleanor said with a soft chuckle. “But there’s always a higher sky above us, isn’t there?”
The three of them made their way toward the next venue, weaving through the bustling festival streets. This time, their path led eastward, toward the great aquatic competitions.
To the east of Rosmayne lay Lake Sérénité—a vast blue jewel cradled between the rugged feet of the Althéne Mountains and the rolling green hills that stretched toward the west. Its waters, fed by melting snow and countless mountain springs, remained cold even in the heart of spring. From the shore, the pale sandy bottom was clearly visible in the shallows, before vanishing into mysterious depths said to have never been fully measured.
Spring transformed Sérénité into a living painting. Fresh shoots unfurled from birch and maple, their young leaves a tender, almost translucent green. Along the grassy banks, crocuses, anemones, and buttercups scattered gentle colors beneath the warming sun. A mountain wind swept across the surface, carrying with it the scent of damp earth, fresh foliage, and a coolness that bit at the skin yet refreshed the spirit.
“This place smells different from the city,” Viena murmured, pausing for a moment. “Like it’s… cleaner and fresher.” She takes a big breath.
“It is cleaner,” Eleanor replied. “The mountains guard it well. What you’re breathing now has passed through a thousand pine needles before reaching you.”
For Rosmayne, Sérénité was more than beautiful—it was vital. Its waters flowed through canals and streams, nourishing apple orchards, barley fields, and vineyards in the lowlands. The lake teemed with life: plump mountain trout, quicksilver pike, and the rare silver char that could survive only in the iciest depths. On its western shore, the small harbor was never still—fishing boats and merchant barges came and went, their holds heavy with the day’s catch bound for the capital’s markets.
Locals called Sérénité the “heaven's mirror”—clear enough to reflect the sky’s grandeur, yet deep enough to hide secrets. To some, it was a symbol of prosperity, to others, a stage for courage.
Today, with the Ludus Magnorum underway, the lake had been transformed into a great arena. The main southern dock was draped with bright flags that snapped and fluttered in the mountain wind. Food stalls and beer tents jostled with folk-music stages, while rows of wooden benches faced the water for spectators. In the distance, the course for the sailing race stretched toward a natural northern bay. Beneath the shining surface, the lake still held its usual icy bite—something every swimmer would soon taste. And though the water looked tranquil, those who knew Sérénité understood how suddenly the mountain winds could rise, testing both nerve and skill.
Lisabelle shaded her eyes, watching a team of rowers practicing out on the water. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, “but I wouldn’t trust it for a heartbeat.”
Eleanor’s smile was knowing. “That,” she said, “is exactly why it makes the perfect stage.”
As the crowd mingled in cheerful chatter, their attention was suddenly drawn to a poised, middle-aged woman who carried herself with the regal bearing of one accustomed to command. Her presence alone quieted the noise like a hand smoothing ripples from water.
This was Lady Setra, Duchess of Aqua Regia—the dukedom whose jurisdiction included the glittering expanse of Lake Sérénité. With a measured smile and a voice that carried over the wind, she stepped forward to address the gathered masses.
“People of Rosmayne, and honored guests from afar,” she began, her tone warm yet resonant, “this lake has long been our treasure—life to our fields, shelter to our fishermen, and beauty to our land. Today, it becomes something more. Today, it is the stage for courage and a trove of glory.”
The audience erupted in cheers, and Lady Setra waited with practiced patience for the sound to ebb before concluding. “May the waters be kind, the winds be fair, and may the best among you claim victory. Let the games begin!”
With that, she turned gracefully and yielded the platform to the event’s master of ceremonies.
The gamecaster—a wiry man with an exuberance that could probably be heard halfway across the lake—leapt forward, raising both arms dramatically.
“For the first event of the day,” he bellowed, “prepare your voices, your cheers, and your courage… because here come the finest divers in the known world!”
The crowd’s roar rolled like a breaking wave.
“They will compete in the legendary challenge we call… Deep Lustre!”
Murmurs swept through the stands.
“Deep Lustre? What’s that supposed to be?”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Or beautiful.”
The caster grinned as if he had been waiting for the question. “Allow me to explain! In this contest, all thirteen competitors will hunt for thirty relics hidden across the lakebed. Look out there!” He thrust his arm toward the shimmering distance, where four medium-sized vessels floated in an orderly line.
“Those ships mark the borders of the arena—and serve as the vigilant guardians of our brave participants. Within that zone, thirty relics lie in wait… and our divers have only thirty minutes to claim as many as they can! The one who surfaces with the greatest haul… will be our champion!”
From his coat, the caster produced an object that caught the sunlight—a triangular prism etched with the unmistakable crest of the Ludus Magnorum. Gasps rippled through the audience, followed swiftly by a swell of excitement.
“You expect them to dive in that freezing water?!” someone shouted in disbelief.
“Fear not, dear friends!” the caster declared with mock gallantry. “Every participant will be given a special ring. Should they feel endangered, they need only crush its embedded stone—by pressing it or even biting it! The ring will trigger magic to grant them temporary breath beneath the water.”
“And what if someone cheats?” a skeptical woman called out from the crowd.
“Aha! An excellent question, my vigilant lady. Should there be any suspicion, the rings can be examined at once. And right here—” he gestured to a peculiar crystal-topped device on a nearby table “—we have the Federation of Sindris’ latest marvel. This arcane detector will reveal if a ring was used… or tampered with!”
“Ohh!” the crowd murmured in admiration.
“Remarkable!”
“I didn’t even know such magic existed!”
“Then please,” the caster cried, “let us give a round of thunderous applause to the brilliant minds of Sindris for their unmatched craft!”
A swell of applause broke over the pier, whistles and shouts ringing across Lake Serenité. From a shaded platform near the judges, a handful of elderly artificiers stepped forward, their robes stitched with faint runes that glimmered in the afternoon light.
One of them, a wiry man with a shock of white hair and a tinkerer’s smile, raised both hands high, waving with cheerful vigor.
“It wasn’t anything fancy!” he called, his voice carrying easily to the shoreline. “I made the concept in my free dillydallying time—and who knew it could turn into something so fun like this!”
The crowd laughed, the sound swelling with warmth.
“Peace, my friends—peace is truly the best thing we could all strive for! Let us cheer for ourselves!”
Applause rang out once more, bright and unreserved, as the atmosphere tipped into full anticipation.
The cheering redoubled when the competitors stepped onto the platform. Each took a moment to strike a pose, flex, or let out a defiant roar, showing off both physique and confidence. The display drew laughs, whistles, and approving shouts—an opening flourish that, if the caster had his way, would become a tradition for every aquatic event to come.
“You’ve got this! Come on!” cried Viena, her eyes sparkling as she bounced on her seat. She was so carried away that she climbed onto her chair to jump and wave, her voice nearly lost in the sea of shouts and horns.
And so began a small part of the grand spectacle that was the Ludus Magnorum. It was only the opening act, but already, many might have agreed—this is the perfect beginning.