Chapter 20: I want to go home

Roy sipped from his cup and made a face. "Why does mango juice always taste like betrayal?"

Liam raised his own cup. "Betrayal? This is the nectar of gods."

"It's too sweet. It tastes like it's hiding something."

"That's called flavour, Roy."

Roy narrowed his eyes at the drink like it had insulted his ancestors. "No, this is how they get you. First, it's fruity paradise. Next thing you know, you've bought three bottles and are crying in the shower."

Liam snorted. "You're so dramatic. It's juice."

"Exactly," Roy muttered, taking another reluctant sip. "It's always the simple things that kill you."

The two of them sat on the edge of a fountain in the market square, the sky melting into a soft golden hue. The evening crowd thinned around them as vendors started packing up, though laughter and the distant hum of street musicians still lingered in the air like smoke.

Roy glanced down at the half-empty grocery bag by his feet and sighed. "You ever feel like shopping is some sort of cosmic punishment?"

"Grocery runs and existential dread," Liam said, stretching. "Welcome to adulthood."

Roy grunted. "And here I thought dying multiple times was the peak of suffering."

Liam leaned back on his palms and smiled lazily. "You're still here, though."

Roy didn't respond. His gaze drifted to a nearby fruit stand, then to the sky. The clouds above floated like they had somewhere better to be.

"So," Liam began, casual, "You thinking about entering the Richt Tournament?"

Roy side-eyed him. "Already did. Kind of. Long story."

"Huh." Liam sat up straighter. "Who do you think's gonna win?"

Roy arched a brow. "That's assuming I care."

"But let's say you do," Liam said. "Out of the most notorious contenders, who do you think will win?"

Roy sipped his juice. "…Um, to be all honest, I only know my friends and you that are participating. So I would say my friend Kieran.

Liam acknowledged what Roy said, as he thinks of Roy as a unique person."

Liam lowered his voice slightly. "People are saying she might be watching."

"She?" Roy echoed.

"Solace."

Roy blinked. "Who?"

Liam stared at him. "You've never heard of the Goddess of War?"

"Sounds made up. Like a wrestler's name or a mom with a temper."

Liam grinned. "Solace. The Hundred Breath Executioner. Ended the Battle of Scarlet Valley solo. No army, no backup. Just waltzed in and ended a war."

"Totally normal," Roy said flatly.

"She'll be watching the finals."

"Watching? Not participating?"

"She doesn't fight in public anymore. Too dangerous, apparently. Some say she's looking for something. Or someone."

Roy tilted his head. "She got a halo or just a terrifying sword?"

"Both. Probably."

Roy paused, letting the name sink in. It had a weight to it — the kind that didn't fade. Like thunder in the distance.

"…And what's the prize again?" He asked.

"Anything."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Like?"

"Anything. A wish. Granted by the king himself."

Roy's expression didn't change, but he was more intrigued than when he started.

A wish. Anything. Anything that person wants will be done.

He didn't want to care. He really didn't. But the idea crept in anyway, worming through his resolve like a leak in a dam.

Liam continued, oblivious. "You know how the tournament's structured?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

Liam perked up. "Think of it like a mega-tournament made of mini-tournaments. Each region runs its own prelims. Forests, deserts, abandoned cities — all kinds of insane settings."

"Sounds relaxing."

"It's not. You get weeded out if you can't adapt. And referees are everywhere. Magical lie detectors with anti-cheat magic. One toe out of line and you're gone."

"So it's a tournament to get into a tournament to get into the tournament."

"Exactly."

Roy stared blankly into the distance. "I want to go home."

Liam looked at him. "You are in your hometown, right?"

"I meant emotionally."

Liam laughed. "You'll be fine."

"No, I won't. My plan was to lose in Round One, then eat garbage food and watch other people suffer. Now I'm expected to impress a divine war goddess with a cool name and probably an eight-pack."

"She's not that bad."

Roy gave him a look.

"…Okay, she might be that bad," Liam admitted.

Roy sighed, leaned back, and gazed at the sky. His voice dropped.

"You ever look at a bird and just… envy it?"

Liam blinked. "A bird?"

"Yeah. Just flying around. No taxes. No grocery runs. No blood tournaments or war deities. Just… flapping."

He gestured dramatically at the air, nearly sloshing his juice. "Imagine that kind of freedom. No plans. No stress. No weird mango conspiracies."

"You think birds are stress-free?"

"They don't look like they're screaming about the price of cabbage, Liam."

Liam chuckled. "You're ridiculous."

Roy sighed again, a little softer this time. "Just once, I wanna be that bird. Glide across the sky. No obligations. Just… cloud-watching. Floating. No weight. Just me, the wind, and the vague existential dread of maybe hitting a window."

"…I'd pay to watch that," Liam said.

Roy didn't respond. He just stared upward, the sky now tinged in deeper gold, clouds moving slowly above them.

He whispered, "I really, really want to go home."

And Liam, still smiling, said, "Then I guess this is goodbye."

Roy nodded. "Then I guess it is."

Liam put his hand forward as a sign of a handshake.

Roy looked Liam in the eyes and lifted his arm to shake his hand back.