(Two hours before the fight, Aegon Veyr’s Warm-Up Room)
Veyr lay flat on his back, casually bouncing a ball off the ceiling when Captain Max entered the room.
*Tap*
*Tap*
*Tap*
He paused for a mont, sensing a presence drawing near, as lifting just his neck, he gave Max a quick once-over, then let his head fall back down and resud tossing the ball, acting as though Max hadn’t entered at all.
*Tap*
*Tap*
*Tap*
"I am Captain Max, and I’ll be the referee for your fight today," Max introduced himself as he used a small wind spell to guide the ball into his palm before it could fall back into Veyr’s.
That gesture drew an annoyed click of the tongue from Veyr, who sat up sluggishly, narrowing his eyes at the ball now resting in Max’s hand, as if demanding it back at once.
"Haha, alright–" Max said, as he chuckled and tossed it back.
*Catch*
"Pleased to et you, Captain. How may I help you today?" Veyr asked, his tone overly polite and deliberately rehearsed, the product of countless etiquette lessons drilled into him by the ntor sent by Fourth Elder.
"You can help by paying attention to my instructions. It would be a sha if I had to disqualify you from such a historic battle just because you ’accidentally’ broke a rule," Max said with a patient smile, one that walked the line between respectful and unshaken.
"Please, carry on. I have nothing but the utmost respect, *chuckle*, for rules," Veyr replied, a dry chuckle slipping out before he caught himself and returned to his stoic facade.
*Sigh*
Max exhaled quietly, already realising what kind of person he was dealing with, though he kept his composure intact.
"This bout will be conducted under standard universal circuit rules," Max began, his tone steady. "Now, I’ve been inford that this is your first official competition, so let lay out the rules clearly to avoid any confusion later."
"The match ends only when one fighter is incapacitated or surrenders. There are no arena-outs, no match stoppages for disarming your opponent."
As Max spoke, Veyr let out a slow yawn, blatantly disinterested in the rule rundown.
"You may not kill your opponent," Max continued. "While killing will not result in disqualification, we would prefer not to lose soone carrying the blood of our ancestor dying so unnecessarily. So, make sure to hold back your final strike."
Veyr laughed at that, loud and amused.
"Well, at least you acknowledge it’ll be who needs to pull back the final blow," he said, flashing Max a sly grin.
Max rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the bravado.
"Well, my subordinates have already inspected your gear. Everything checks out. Best of luck in your match," Max said as he turned to leave, to which Veyr responded with a mock salute, smirking all the way.
—----------
(A few minutes later, Leo’s Warm-Up Room)
Unlike the empty silence of his opponent’s quarters, Leo’s warm-up room carried an unusual atmosphere of casual chatter as Captain Max stepped inside, only to pause mid-step in disbelief.
Sitting cross-legged on the bench, Leo quietly stroked the head of a rather plump frog perched comfortably in his lap. The creature looked up with lazy eyes, its throat inflating slightly as it croaked, not out of instinct, but in perfectly spoken words.
"What is it, mongrel? Why have you interrupted my private ti with Lord Father?" the frog barked, glaring at Max as though he were a servant who had dared enter a royal court without permission.
Captain Max blinked, montarily stunned. "My sincerest apologies," he managed, quickly regaining his composure. "I’m Captain Max, the designated referee for today’s match, and I’m here to clarify the rules..."
Leo gave him a quiet nod of understanding and gestured toward the bench opposite him. Max took the offer, lowering himself to sit as the frog, who was clearly no ordinary beast, continued to squint at him with a scrutinising gaze.
"It’s my understanding that you’ve already competed in the Interstellar Circuits," Max began, choosing his words carefully, "so I assu you’re familiar with the standard rules governing this match?"
Leo nodded once more.
"Well then, I won’t take up too much of your ti. The only thing I ask—no, urge—is that you refrain from killing your opponent, should the opportunity arise. Both of you carry the blood of our ancestor, and while the rules may not explicitly forbid it, having either of you die under my watch would be a failure I’d prefer not to bear."
Leo’s expression remained steady as he replied, "Understood. I won’t kill him. He might very well be a long-lost cousin of mine..... and I don’t spill blood of family."
Max couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the response, appreciating the touch of humor in Leo’s otherwise composed deanor.
With a final nod, he rose from the bench.
"Thank you for your ti. I’ll take my leave now."
—--------
Once outside and walking down the corridor alone, Max couldn’t help but reflect on the sharp contrast between the two competitors.
Veyr had been insufferably arrogant, overflowing with bravado and barely-veiled contempt, the kind of fighter who believed the world owed him its applause before he’d earned it.
Leo, on the other hand, though clearly prideful in his own right, carried himself with a calm restraint that felt infinitely more suited to the weight of the Dragon’s title. There was a quiet gravity in his presence, sothing that demanded respect without needing to shout for it.
And if this fight were decided by deanor alone, Max knew exactly who he would bet on.
"Skyshard is better suited for the job," he admitted to himself, "but I don’t see a path for his victory..."
Because regardless of temperant, Leo was still an entire tier below Veyr. And in the cruel, unforgiving logic of battle, that difference was not surmountable through luck alone.
If the two were to fight a thousand tis, Leo would likely lose all one thousand of those fights, because he was simply not strong enough to bridge a full tier gap.
Nobody in the universe was....
Or so, Max believed.
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