He had drifted along like a dead leaf on the wind, formerly one of the proud geniuses of the Iceflower continent. He had fought as a champion of the Eight-Man Empire as an Underlord in the last Uncrowned King tournament. Then, as now, he'd made it to the second round.

This year, he was exactly thirty-five. That was a cruel twist of fate. A few months older, and he wouldn't have been allowed to participate.

He felt twice his age.

Ziel let the first two hours of the round pass him by, his emerald horns resting against the bark of the tree behind him. Crowns fell and moved, some turned white, and no doubt many battles were won and lost.

He watched through half-lidded eyes, staring through the leaves at the sky.

Northstrider had heard of him through the Beast King and had come for him. One of the youngest Archlords ever, an elite among elites, fortuitously reduced to the level of a mere Underlord. The Monarch had declared that Ziel would certainly be allowed to enter.

One of the other factions was bending the rules in a similar fashion, it seemed, and it wasn't as though Ziel could exert any more power than a real Underlord. Far from it. Ziel could pass most spiritual power detectors as a Truegold.

The poison that ravaged his body had undone most of the enhancement soulfire had given him, and holding anything—even soulfire—in his soulspace was like trying to hold a mouthful of needles. He might as well not be an Underlord.

Years of treatment at the hands of the Beast King had countered much of the poison, but he could still only barely be considered an Underlord. If not for his skill and experience, he would never have passed the first round.

Without Northstrider's personal request, he wouldn’t have participated in the tournament. Not even when the Monarch revealed that the Ninecloud Court had methods of restoring his soul. Their royal madra could do miraculous things to spirits. He only had to make it far enough in the tournament to earn a prize from them...and, not coincidentally, to improve Northstrider's reputation.

Ziel still hadn't wanted to do it. What if the Court could restore him to his former power? He had no sect left. There was nothing to fight for. Revenge did not return the dead.

Another golden light descended from the sky over the island. This would be the twenty-fourth, give or take. And it was fairly close.

Ziel groaned like an old man as he pushed himself up on his hammer. He had the body of an eighteen-year-old, but he didn't feel like it.

Slowly, he dragged his weapon through the jungle toward the crown. He had come this far, and it wasn't every day that you received a personal request from a Monarch. He had to at least give it a token effort.

Though he was the only one of the Wastelands team who had made it past the first round. If Northstrider really expected a victory out of them, he should have trained up some better candidates.

The beasts of the jungle moved through the trees around him, but he ignored them, marching onward. He wasn't afraid of them, and even if they somehow did make it past his hammer and tear out his throat, he didn't care.

Evidently they could sense total apathy, because they let him pass.

Ahead of him, the column turned white. He couldn't see much through the thick trees, only the light filtering through the leaves, but he sensed a battle fading away.

He pushed his way past a leaf bigger than his head to see who was wearing the crown. If there were too many people, he would turn around and leave. There were still at least eight crowns left. He hoped he had waited out the most intense fighting, and maybe he could scoop one up unclaimed.

The boy wearing the shining white crown wore a pair of blue armbands Forged from vivid yellow-and-blue lightning.

Stormcaller madra.

Ziel and the boy stared at each other for a long moment. Ziel saw the shining dragon that flew on unnatural stormclouds of madra. Bolts like the ones wrapped around this man’s arms had slithered through doors, hunting victims. Lightning from the Sage's fingertips had wrapped around him, searing his spirit...

Ziel shook himself as something stirred in the ashes of his heart. This didn't matter. The fight wasn't worth it. If he won, this one Stormcaller wouldn't really die. Even if his death was permanent, what of it? It would change nothing.

Ziel turned, his gray cloak fluttering behind him. He could find another crown.

“Dawnwing!” the Stormcaller exclaimed.

The man recognized the symbol of Ziel’s sect. He had been there that night.

He should have kept his mouth shut.

The next thing Ziel knew, his hammer was covered in blood that slowly dissolved into light.

~~~

It felt like no time at all when Lindon reappeared on the beach. The first thing he saw was a panting, bleeding Pride crouched on the sand next to him.

Golden light streamed into the sky behind him.

Lindon's head jerked up, scanning the treeline. He knew an hour had passed, but the thrill of battle and the shock of death still flowed through him. “Where's Sophara?” he asked.

“Passed,” Pride said, struggling to his feet. He was broken, battered, and almost two feet shorter than Lindon, but he still held his head high. “It worked.”

He held a crown, and Lindon looked to it. “What happened to the other crown?” Sophara had been carrying two.

“My sister took one, and Yerin Arelius the other,” Pride said. “She actually refused to take it. Mercy had to force it onto her head just like you did to Sophara.”

“What about that one?” Lindon asked.

Pride held it out. “This is for you.” He glanced to one side. “I suggest you take it quickly. It hasn't been long since I won it.”

Lindon stood still, watching him.

[It's an imposter!] Dross said.

“Gratitude, but why would you...”

Pride made an irritated noise and shoved the crown onto Lindon's head. Instantly, Lindon was bathed in a pillar of white light.

“I owe you nothing,” he said, turning his back to Lindon and limping toward the trees. “Defend it on your own.”

[That was nice,] Dross said. [I still don't like him.]

~~~

Naru Saeya flew low, dodging branches, as she circled a tower of gold light in the distance. She couldn't know what had happened since she was killed, so she had to assume that she was the last remaining member of her team.

Her victory wasn't important. It was the team that mattered.

As she kept her spiritual sense extended, hunting for danger, she felt something behind her and slowed down. After making sure there was no one else close to her, she flew backward.

Eithan had emerged at the edge of the jungle, just where they had arrived at the beginning. He brushed his robes off, giving an annoyed huff when he found a spot of mud around his knee.

“You didn't last any longer than I did,” she said, and in truth it soothed her pride. She had thought that if anyone survived, it would be Eithan.

He gave her a beaming grin. “I thought you could use the company. No telling how many crowns are left, but we should be able to grab a pair.”

“On one condition,” Saeya said. “You take the first.”

He paused. “I have to admit, I was expecting a different condition.”

She folded her wings and began walking, perception extended. “I'm not a fool. I know you didn’t have to take that hit.”

Eithan glanced up at the sky, perhaps looking to the invisible constructs that allowed the participants to watch them. “What? How dare you. Perish the thought.”