Chapter 7: Foundations of Strength

The sun shone brightly over Mystvir, bathing the town in a warm glow that belied the chaos of the previous day. In the heart of the bustling town square, a raised platform stood tall, fifty meters in height, intricately carved and etched with glowing runes. A crowd gathered, murmuring among themselves about the tournament and the sudden attack by the Skyarcs.

A diminutive figure stepped onto the platform, his yellow fur gleaming under the sunlight. The Braxis race member, standing no taller than five feet, exuded a presence far greater than his small, chubby stature might suggest. With short limbs and a round physique, his human-like eyes scanned the crowd. He spoke into a rune-powered microphone, his voice amplified to echo across the entire town.

"Attention, citizens of Mystvir!" His voice was calm yet commanding. "Due to the Skyarc attack, the tournament has been postponed. It will now take place six days from today. Use this time to prepare wisely."

The crowd erupted in whispers and murmurs. Among the people were Valerius, Eryndor, Ziraiah, and Kaelan, who had been observing the scene from the edges of the square.

"Six days, huh?" Valerius muttered, crossing his arms. "Plenty of time to figure things out."

As the announcement ended, a group of uniformed figures entered the square, drawing immediate attention. They were Velphraxis, their tall, sleek forms standing out even in a crowd. The leader, a towering man standing at 10'6", wore a dark, fitted uniform adorned with golden runes, emphasizing his sharp features and piercing golden eyes. His orange fur shimmered faintly as he directed his companions to lift the Skyarc carcasses onto rune-powered carts.

Valerius, his curiosity getting the better of him, stepped closer to the group. "What are you going to do with those?" he called out.

The Velphraxis leader turned his sharp gaze on Valerius. "Classified," he said curtly, his voice calm but firm. "Stay out of it."

Valerius frowned, but before he could push further, Kaelan's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Let it go, Lerius. Trust me, you don't want to mess with them."

Valerius sighed, muttering under his breath, "Always a mystery in this place…"

---

As they walked away from the square, Ziraiah broke the silence. "So, Kaelan, what do you think about the tournament? Do you think we could compete?"

Kaelan stopped in his tracks, turning to face her with a serious expression. "Compete?" He let out a short laugh. "When I said you could compete earlier, I meant Eryndor. If you entered that tournament, you'd die instantly. Especially you and Valerius."

Valerius bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kaelan sighed, crouching to meet Ziraiah's eye level. "Look, you're Elvhein children. And Elvhein children are fragile. More fragile than you can imagine. If an adult from any race punched you straight in the belly, their fist would go right through you. That's how weak your bodies are right now."

Ziraiah's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Kaelan replied. "Elvhein children are heavily sheltered by their parents for this exact reason. It's why our kind rarely interacts with other races until you reach adulthood."

Eryndor, standing taller and more composed than his siblings, folded his arms. "So, you're implying I might survive?"

Kaelan nodded. "You're different. Bigger, stronger. But even then, you're not fully developed. Don't get cocky."

Ziraiah tilted her head, her curiosity bubbling over. "So how much stronger are the people in the tournament compared to us?"

Kaelan smiled faintly, straightening up and crossing his arms. "Way stronger."

Valerius frowned. "Then what's the point of even trying?"

Kaelan turned to Eryndor, his green eyes glinting. "Eryndor, you need to make some money. I'm not going to keep paying for your living expenses after the tournament."

Eryndor raised an eyebrow. "So you want me to fight?"

Kaelan shrugged. "You're 18 yeara old, right? That's old enough to fend for yourself. You're smaller than most Elvheins at your age, probably because your world's environment isn't as efficient, but you can still train."

Eryndor's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Valerius's eyes lit up. "Train us? I want to train too."

Kaelan glanced at him, his smirk widening. "You? Sure, if you think you can handle it."

---

While the brothers prepared for training, Ziraiah decided to explore Mystvir. The vibrant town captivated her. Stalls lined the streets, showcasing colorful fabrics, intricate jewelry, and exotic artifacts. She paused at one stall where a woman demonstrated the use of enchanted threads to create glowing patterns on dresses.

"Isn't it beautiful?" the merchant asked, noticing Ziraiah's interest. "This technique has been passed down for generations."

Ziraiah smiled, her green eyes sparkling. "It's amazing. Your culture is incredible."

The merchant beamed. "Thank you, dear. Perhaps one day you'll wear one of these creations."

Ziraiah continued her exploration, marveling at the blend of magic and craftsmanship that permeated Mystvir's culture. Each building seemed alive with history, the runes etched into their walls telling stories of the past.

---

Back at the training grounds, Kaelan wasted no time putting Eryndor and Valerius through grueling drills. They sprinted, dodged, and climbed under Kaelan's watchful eye, their bodies pushed to the brink.

Eryndor's endurance was impressive, his movements steady and controlled. Valerius, on the other hand, struggled to keep up. By the end of the first day, he was gasping for air, collapsing onto the ground.

"My heart," Valerius panted. "My heart's gonna explode… I… can't… take… this… anymore."

Kaelan crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. "Pathetic. Not even Elvhein children are this weak."

Ziraiah, who had returned from her sightseeing, smirked. "Poor Val. Maybe you should leave the hard stuff to Eryndor."

Valerius glared at her. "If you think it's so easy, why don't you try it?"

Ziraiah raised an eyebrow, amused. "Maybe I will."

Valerius crawled toward Ziraiah's feet, his face twisted in mock agony. "You… know… that I could… lift a car… back on Earth… I… am not… weak. You… don't respect me. I'm… telling… Mom."

Ziraiah burst into laughter. "Me? Respect you? In what world? Aww, poor Val, he's so beat up he forgot Mom's not here. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen you exhausted before. It suits you."

---

Frustrated with his failed attempt at training, Valerius wandered through the town, his thoughts swirling. He stopped at a stall where a man was carefully inscribing glowing runes onto small objects.

"Hey," Valerius said, his curiosity piqued. "Are you a magic user?"

The man looked up, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Not really. This here is a Runic." He held up the tool, its surface engraved with shimmering symbols. "It's an artifact that already contains magic. I just use it to inscribe runes."

Valerius frowned. "So you're not actually using magic?"

The man smiled. "Nope. All I have to do is learn how to write runes. That's the hard part—it takes years of study to master."

Valerius tilted his head. "Why not just learn magic?"

The man's smile faded slightly. "Magic takes time, effort, and resources that most of us can't afford. It's easier to go to a rune school, learn the craft, and buy a Runic. After that, I started my business."

Valerius nodded slowly, his interest growing. "So the Runic does most of the work?"

"Exactly," the man replied. "It's not as flashy as magic, but it gets the job done. And it puts food on the table."

As Valerius walked away, his mind buzzed with possibilities. Mystvir was a world of endless opportunities, but it was clear that success would not come easily.

---

As the days passed, the siblings prepared in their own ways. Eryndor pushed himself through Kaelan's rigorous training, Ziraiah immersed herself in the culture of Mystvir, and Valerius explored the town, seeking knowledge and inspiration.

The postponed tournament loomed on the horizon, a challenge that would test their strength, resolve, and unity. Together, they were determined to rise to the occasion—no matter what it took. However, things won't go as planned.

To be Continued...