Sweat and blood—the unmistakable stench of a fighting arena. To many, it was the scent of masculinity itself: iron, heat, and bodies pushed past reason. Testosterone clung to the air, thick enough to taste, and egos swelled even higher. Those egos were loud. Deafening. The arena only made it worse. A massive circular chamber of stone, its design carried sound effortlessly—cheers rolling across the sand, striking the far wall, and rebounding again and again in endless waves. The noise never truly faded. The stands were packed. These bouts were entertainment for the common folk, fleeting distractions from hunger, labor, and debt. Even when the fights ended quickly, they offered something precious: release. A moment to forget their own hardships and pour anger and frustration into the men bleeding below. Cheers erupted when a favorite struck true; boos thundered when he faltered. Strength in numbers, after all. Noise was the one power they possessed.
Amid the sea of ragged clothes, pale faces, and unwashed hair, one figure stood out. Her garments were loose and unassuming, yet too clean, too intact. They lacked the frayed seams and faded stains of the rest. Shoulder-length brown hair fell freely, artfully disheveled but unmistakably cared for. Her light brown eyes were plain enough—almost deliberately so. Too deliberate. Suspicious glances followed her. The verdict came quickly: she didn't belong. Highborn, clearly. Only her skin worked in her favor—a warm, sun-kissed tone that hinted at distant lands and long days beneath open skies. Enough, perhaps, to dull outright hostility. She found a narrow opening in the crowd just as the fight ended—one man collapsing unconscious into the sand. The arena erupted. She joined the cheering a breath late, clapping and shouting along, her voice swallowed by the roar. Then the noise died.
A broad-shouldered man strode into the ring, clad in a tight-fitting suit that left little to the imagination. Muscle layered upon muscle. Authority radiated from the way he stood, the way his gaze swept the stands. The referee.
"The winner!" His voice boomed effortlessly across the arena. "The one you've all been rooting for tonight!"
He seized the victor's arm and raised it high.
"Your favorite! You know him! You love him! Booooone Busterrrrrrr!"
The emphasis was theatrical—and wildly effective. The crowd exploded. A single raised hand silenced them again.
"He has fought countless opponents and still stands strong! Truly unstoppable!" The referee paused, letting anticipation coil tight. "And now—he has earned a chance at the reigning champion."
A murmur rippled through the stands.
"No one knows her real name."
Her?
The thought struck the tanned woman like a slap. A woman—here?
"Undefeated," the referee continued. "Some say she is gifted. That she sacrificed her sight so she could see her opponents' moves before they make them. That she can strike straight through a man's spirit."
The crowd leaned forward as one.
"Is she a witch?" He scoffed. "No—magic is forbidden here. She is… The Diiiiiviiiinerrrrrr!"
The arena erupted anew. The champion emerged beneath the thunder of cheers. She made no attempt to blend in. Tanned skin like polished bronze, dressed in a fitted white top and knee-length pants that emphasized every line of muscle. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. But it was her height that stunned most. Barely five foot two. Bone Buster loomed over her by more than a head, glaring down in open intimidation. She didn't flinch. Didn't blink. She stared straight ahead—through him rather than at him.
The woman in the crowd frowned.
She's tiny. A hundred and ten pounds, maybe. How is she the champion? He'll crush her.
Bone Buster's voice thundered across the ring.
"Bone Buster feels conflicted about fighting a frail little girl. He will allow you to concede and walk away."
A grin curved the Diviner's lips.
"How generous," she said lightly. "But it sounds to me like you're scared, Buster."
Confusion flickered across his face—then fury.
"Bone Buster is ready to bust some bones!"
"Whatever." She rolled her eyes. "Just don't bust your knee. Like the last guy."
"You little bitch!"
"Oooh," she cooed. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
The woman in the crowd blinked.
She's insane. She's just made it worse—
A shove cut the thought short. "Move it, Ritchy! We want to see the champ!"
She was swept closer with the surge of bodies, close enough now to truly see the Diviner. Shorter than expected. Compact. Solid. Pale green eyes stood out sharply against her skin—but the pupils themselves were faded.
Blind?
The thought lingered as a scarcely clad cheerleader skipped past, hoisting the sign for round one. The crowd appreciated the spectacle.
Then the fight began. Bone Buster lunged first, confidence evident in his aggressive stance. Heavy jabs cut through the air. None landed. The Diviner moved like water—slipping aside, redirecting blows, gliding across the sand with uncanny precision. She didn't strike back. She simply guided, evaded, waited. The woman in the crowd stared, mouth slightly open. She had never seen anyone move like this—so controlled, so effortless. The Diviner's gaze never wavered, never shifted. It was as if she were watching something invisible to everyone else. Frustration twisted Bone Buster's face. He changed tactics, driving a knee upward. The Diviner shifted her stance, blocked the strike with one arm, guarded her head with the other—and then moved. A short, powerful shove struck his bent leg. Bone Buster toppled. The arena erupted. The tanned woman could only stare.
He outweighs her by double—maybe more. How did she—
Bone Buster hit the ground hard, then surged back to his feet on pure adrenaline. He charged again. It didn't matter. The Diviner pivoted, her body turning smoothly, power coiling through her hips. Her palm struck his lower sternum. Bone Buster collapsed. This time he didn't rise. He lay gasping, choking for air, eyes wide with panic as the referee counted. The Diviner had already turned away, lifting her arms to the roaring crowd, a lopsided grin curving her lips. Only the observant woman noticed something odd. Though the champion turned toward the sound, her gaze never truly focused. Never landed.
Can she even see them?
The thought lingered.
Several days earlier the tanned lady, now properly dressed as a lady with all the accompanying jewelry, strolled through the mansion she lived in. The estate was located near the river Xao on the north side of Xaerona where the lands were lush. Unlike most of the continent that was covered in deserts. Their land stretched far and wide with multiple farms under their care, and command. Yes, they were indeed among the rich and noble of the continent.
'Talia! There you are' a loud voice boomed 'You're late for your training'.
Talia let out a loud sigh, letting her shoulders drop 'How was your evening Talia. Oh it was wonderful Dad'.
'Young lady!' her father boomed again, a tone of authority in his voice 'In this house we respect our elders. Perhaps we should refresh your etiquette lessons'.
Talia suddenly felt like a little girl again. She drew a breath, her hands clenched at her sides.
"I'm sorry, Father… but you keep treating me like a little girl. I'm not a child anymore. I want to see the world. All I ever do is train and study."
Her father's jaw tightened. "Then you must train harder. The world is cruel, especially for a young gi—"
A gentle hand pressed his shoulder, halting the list that was about to spill forth.
"Darling," Talia's mother's voice was soft, yet unyielding. "She has a point. Our little girl is a woman now. Perhaps it is time we listened to her."
Talia's lips parted in surprise. The tension in her face eased—her mother's support was a balm she hadn't known she craved.
"Faedhirsha…" her father began, but stopped at once. He knew the battle was already lost.
Her mother turned back to Talia. Her expression was kind, but her eyes carried the weight of a noble lady who had weathered storms. "She is old enough to hear the truth. If she hasn't already sensed it."
Talia's brows knit together.
"What truth?" Her words rushed out, eager and anxious. "I've only ever been to the cities, and always under guard. I saw the Kanjan Desert once, from An'rakar's walls."
She made sure to put the exclamation on the 'Once'.
Faedhirsha rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder, fingers curling gently, almost protectively. "When I was your age, child, that desert was nowhere near An'rakar."
Talia blinked. Once. Twice. The memory of standing on the walls returned—an endless sea of shifting gold, stretching for miles. She knew deserts could drift, yes… but not leagues upon leagues in a single lifetime. Her stomach sank as realisation hit her.
"How many towns?" she whispered.
Her father answered this time, his voice subdued. "Three that we know of. Swallowed. And the sands creep closer every day. An'rakar will be next."
The words landed like stones in her chest.
"Why?" The question broke from her throat, though part of her wished she hadn't asked.
Her father's gaze dropped. "No one knows. Our scholars have torn through the records, but the books hold nothing. We are blind."
Talia straightened. Heat rose in her chest—not fear this time, but resolve. "Then I will go to Tan'thalon. This is a threat to us all, to everything we've built and sworn to protect. If no one else can uncover the truth, then I must."
Her father met her eyes. His look was as steady as ever, regal and unreadable, but she felt the weight of it pressing on her resolve. For a moment, doubt crept in.
Then her mother's elbow nudged sharply into his ribs.
A long sigh escaped him. "Take Eldarion with you. He is top of his class among the paladins."
Talia's temper flared. "But he's—"
One stern glance from Faedhirsha stopped her cold. This was not a battle she would win.
Talia bit her tongue, the words twisting unspoken in her mind. Obnoxious. Self-righteous. Forever chasing after me…
Her fists curled tighter. Fine. If Eldarion came, then he came. But this was her path, and nothing—not her father's fear, not her mother's steel, not the desert itself—would turn her from it.
'He will keep you safe' Faedhirsha said, her tone soft 'And he comes from a good family'.
And there it was, her mother's hidden motive.
Talia didn't take long to pack. It was almost as if she constantly kept a pack ready to explore. The backpack itself was quite sizable and looked hefty, and even labeled "To adventure!". Luckily she was a strong woman. Literally. Her training as a paladin showed. Her companion awaited her at the gates to their estate. A young man with brown hair and eyes, typical for the continent. She didn't really like him. He always wanted to excel in everything he did, always had to be better than her. And he had to be in the center of everything. Even now that she was finally able to venture further than she had ever gone, he had to be there to rub her face in that he was better than her. Talia sighed, knowing she was going to be stuck with him for a while.
'Better make the most of it' she told herself and left for the gate, where everyone was waiting.
There was one thing she was grateful for though. His family had invested quite an amount in transportation. A great gleaming mechanical horse, driven entirely by the nation's greatest resource, Lazulli Magis, the magic stone. To showcase their status, parts of it were in purple and gold. This horse would not tire, not suffer from heat nor need to rest. She was going to travel in style. Better yet, there was a slightly smaller version of it behind it. It was almost as if someone had tried to make a steed and a mare. The mare was made in the same regal colors as Talia's armor that she had chosen to wear as a statement, gold and platinum.
Faedhisha wrapped her daughter in an embrace, whispering softly in her ear "Be careful out there, you hear?'.
Talia nodded softly. Neither of them showed any weakness on the outside as they had to present strong. Just like her stoic father, who patted her on the back.
'Don't worry my lord and lady, I will keep her safe" Eldarion finally spoke, his posture and voice full of confidence. Talia was thrown back to her earlier outing. He suddenly reminded her of someone who was just as confident and conveyed it through posture just like him, the diviner.
As the pair rode off on their gleaming horses, Faedhirsha slowly reached for her husband's hand.
"She's never been beyond the borders of Xaerona.. She's only ever interacted with other humans. Should we tell her about….?".
"No" her husband remained as unphased as ever "She'll find out soon enough".