Chapter 1: The Sound of Destiny
WORRRRR. WORRRRR.
The siren’s whirling hum cut through the morning air, jolting Takeo awake. He groaned, rubbing his eyes and staring up at the ceiling of his small countryside hut. Of all the things to wake up to, this was probably his least favourite.
"Attention all residents of Primo, attention all residents of Primo."
The voice echoed in his head, cheerful and annoyingly chipper.
"Telepathy? Or is someone really wasting that much Flow on this?" Takeo muttered to himself, already annoyed at the energy it must have taken to broadcast this far.
No wonder Takeo could not block out the sound with his pillow squeezed between his head.
"We are bringing you this announcement to EVERYONE who has been designated as combat-ready."
Takeo sighed. "Oh great, here we go…"
Nav’s voice chimed in from somewhere behind him. “Did you hear that? You’re officially 'combat-ready.' Aren’t you excited?”
Takeo rolled his eyes and sat up, staring out at the rolling hills beyond his window. “Yeah, thrilled. Can’t wait to risk my life in some pointless battle. What are you even doing here...”
"You will be required to join the Selection Tournament."
Takeo glanced outside. Even the Flow—the magical energy that pulsed through everything—seemed to slow down, like the world was holding its breath.
Nav elbowed Takeo lightly, breaking the tension. "Well, there goes your peaceful week," he teased, his grin barely masking the nervous energy sparking in his eyes. "Think you’ll sign up willingly, or do they have to drag you there?"
Takeo forced a chuckle, his mind racing. He didn’t really want to do this. Or anything really. The idea of fighting in the tournament was a distant nightmare but more importantly, a hassle. Hassle was always something that Takeo always pushed to the back of his mind.
"It’s not like I have a choice, right?" he muttered, more to himself than to Nav. Seasoned combatants, Veterans, those who had honed their abilities far beyond his own, made his pulse quicken. He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if expecting them to reveal some hidden power he hadn’t yet discovered. More importantly, his palms were that of someone who didn't work hard or much. Clean and smooth. Perhaps, even fairer than those of a fair maiden.
"The prize of the tournament is one wish."
Takeo raised an eyebrow immediately. "A wish? Really? What is this, a fairytale?"
Nav snickered. "Come on, don't you have some deep, dark secret wish you’ve been hiding? Like wanting to be taller?"
Takeo glared. "I'm 172cm [5’66]," he said flatly.
"Exactly," Nav replied, voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Terribly short. Truly tragic."
Takeo groaned again, tossing the blanket off and standing up. Outside, in the distance, the magical leaderboard flickered to life, hovering just above the mountains. It only displayed the top 100 fighters at any given time—people who actually took this whole tournament seriously.
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"Only the top 100, huh? That means I don’t even have to bother showing up, right?" Takeo smirked, hopeful.
"Don’t get too excited," Nav shot back. "It’s not like you can avoid it forever. Unless you plan on running into the hills and hiding until the tournament’s over."
Takeo paused, he was seriously considering it. "That doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, actually."
Worrrrrr.
The siren blared again, louder this time, like it was personally offended by Takeo’s lack of enthusiasm. He sighed, pulling on his jacket and stepping outside. The countryside was as peaceful as ever—the grass swaying gently in the wind, the distant mountains glowing under the early sunlight. If it weren’t for the siren and the hovering leaderboard, he might have believed nothing was happening at all.
Nav continued, unbothered. "You do realize you’re fighting whether you like it or not, right? The whole 'designated combat-ready' thing wasn’t exactly a suggestion."
Takeo crossed his arms. "And if I just… don’t?"
"Well, then you’d miss out on all the fun. Plus, there’s that whole 'wish' thing. You could wish for… I dunno, more naps?"
“Tempting.”
Nav sighed. "Look, you don’t have to win, you just have to survive. Unless you’re planning on taking on the big fishes."
Ah, the big fishes. People who were renowned in Primo for their various aspects of combat. Basically, for Takeo, he understood it as people whom he chose to step aside for. People whom he wants to get along well with.
Takeo snorted. " I’m pretty sure the big fishes won’t even bother with me. Plus, I’m probably not even going to show up. Thanks, but no thanks."
Nav's voice took on a teasing tone. "You mean like you’re trying to mess with them?"
"Exactly what I'm trying not to. Let the giants fight their pointless battles. I’ve got better things to do."
"Like what?"
"Like... not dying?"
Worrrrrr.
Takeo looked up at the leaderboard again. The names hadn’t changed. The top 100 stayed firmly in place, no doubt filled with fighters already tearing into each other. He shrugged, walking down the small path toward the fields.
"Three days," Nav said suddenly.
"Hm?"
"You’ve got three days before the real fighting starts. What’s the plan?"
Takeo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess… I’ll take a short nap. I mean since I was jolted awake by that monstrous siren, right?"
Nav laughed. "Good plan, Takeo. Solid."
There was no way that Takeo could sleep. There were just way too many things racing through his mind right now. People who were still hesitant to fight. Takeo decided to set his mind right and go to the marketplace.
Takeo was slowly strolling through the bustling marketplace, which hummed with an energy he hadn’t felt in years. Stalls lined the narrow streets, their wooden counters filled with everything from simple bread loaves to shimmering trinkets imbued with Flow. He caught snippets of conversation as he passed by the crowd — a group of teenage boys boasting about being deemed combat-ready and joining the tournament, a blacksmith pounding out a final touch on a glowing blade, an elderly man spinning tales of the man who took on the world, people who clearly wanted to rumble but was hesitant to do so in a place filled with people.
Merchants shouted over each other, promising magical charms that would “guaranteed victory” or “protection that can withstand any attack” Takeo could tell most were false promises, desperate attempts to capitalize on the sudden surge of combatants. Still, some younger participants clutched the charms tightly, hope glinting in their eyes.
Takeo sighed, the sound lost amidst the tense murmurs rippling through the crowd. He knew, logically, that this was a major turning point—an event that would change the course of lives people everywhere and perhaps even the fate of Primo itself. Yet, as he stood there, he couldn’t summon the whirlwind of emotions that seemed to grip everyone else. Anxiety, excitement, even fear—they felt distant, as though they belonged to another world.
To him, it was just a hassle, an unwelcome disturbance in the rhythm of his quiet life. Around him, faces were etched with wide-eyed panic or taut with determination. The air crackled with the shared realization that the tournament was a shock trigger, a sudden jolt to the fabric of their existence. For many, it was a matter of attaining personal glory or a personal casket.
Takeo’s gaze swept over the crowd and settled on Nav, who wore a grin that seemed slightly forced. Takeo’s sigh deepened. Perhaps he was different, unwilling to be swept away by the urgency of it all. But deep down, in that quiet, stubborn part of himself, he knew one truth: whether he wanted it or not, this event would pull him in. The current of fate was relentless, and even the most reluctant could only swim for so long before being swept along.
The village stirred back to life as people began to move, the tension thick and tangible. Takeo’s hand unconsciously tightened at his side, a small defiance against the tide.
“For me, it’s just another day I’ll have to get through.” Takeo thought to himself.
