17. Aftermath
The group limped off the arena floor, their bruised and battered bodies a testament to the fight they'd just endured.
The crowd's cheers still echoed through the coliseum, blending with the murmurs of those preparing for the official tournament to begin.
A soft, calming presence approached them—it was Maya, her warm smile radiating a gentle, motherly strength.
Maya's hands glowed with healing light as she moved between them, murmuring words of praise.
"Why do you look so glum. You did well, all of you. Not many can make the general kneel. After all, he's considered the strongest warrior in the realm. Be proud of this achievement."
She grinned, patting Roshan's arm as her wounds faded, then moving to Wuxian, whose bruises vanished at her touch.
Roshan chuckled awkwardly, scratching her head in embarrassment.
"We really tried our best out there, didn't we?"
"Yeah, but he still took us down in the end,"
Atlan muttered, wincing as Maya's hand touched his bruises before radiating it with healing light.
Quizig approached, watching them in silence. As he waited for them to be ready, a slight air of guilt shadowed his face.
They'd fought valiantly, and despite having followed the Archon's orders to go all out, he couldn't shake the pang of guilt for dashing the group's hope.
Once healed, Quizig led them out of the coliseum stage and up towards the Archon's viewing box.
The arena was blooming with festivities, loud cheers reverbated the hall, as the official tournament started.
A stark contrast to the atmosphere of the gang. The silence that settled over the group was heavy, each step filled with a weight of disappointment and awkwardness.
Amiyan's usually bright expression was downcast, his head lowered as he trudged alongside his friends, clearly feeling the sting of loss.
Roshan broke the silence with a whisper to Wuxian.
"I thought we had him there for a second."
Wuxian nodded thoughtfully.
"So did I. But I guess we still have a ways to go."
Elliot glanced back at Quizig, who walked behind them with a stiff, almost hesitant gait.
He was quick to look away, as if respecting their space, but his posture spoke volumes.
Elliot felt a slight twinge of sympathy; it couldn't have been easy for Quizig, bound by duty, yet having to crush his prince's wish.
As they entered the Archon's viewing box, Elliot was struck by a sudden shift in the atmosphere.
In contrast to the somber mood lingering in their group, the inside bustled with a quiet energy.
Seated around a long, crescent-shaped table were delegates from Pygmaia, each small in stature with bright, attentive eyes and dignified expressions. They were deep in conversation with the Archon, who looked up and rose with an serene grace as the group entered.
Amiyan's shoulders slumped even further as he met his mother's gaze, the disappointment in his eyes apparent.
But the Archon, without a word, approached him and pulled him into a gentle embrace.
"You did well, my child," she whispered, a hint of pride woven into her voice.
She pulled back, her gaze warm but firm, and turned to Quizig.
"And you, General." she said, her voice a mix of regality and mock reproach.
"I know I told you to go all-out, but do you really have to send them flying with such force?"
Quizig's face colored slightly, and he bowed his head awkwardly.
"My sincerest apologies, your eminence. It was, after all, your order to go all out…"
His voice trailed off, but the faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
Elliot watched the interaction, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He felt a strange sense of comfort; even the Archon herself, a being of such power, could playfully chastise her general.
Just then, Elliot noticed a familiar face among the delegates—a small figure with white hair who looked over at him with bright, curious eyes.
It was the same Pygmaian he'd encountered in the palace baths.
In front of them stood another figure, long braids framing their face as they met Elliot's gaze with a piercing intensity.
They wore an ornate white robe, its intricate patterns catching the light, while tribal tattoos traced bold lines across their exposed skin, hinting at stories untold.
"So, these are the brave young ones who freed the captives, are they not?"
The Archon nodded and gestured with a soft smile.
"Yes, indeed. And allow me to introduce you all—these are the esteemed Delegates of Pygmaia. This is Elder Vaqal, the head of the delegation."
Elliot blinked, trying to keep his surprise in check.
*Elder? She looks like she's barely older than a middle school student.*
He exchanged a quick look with Roshan, who appeared to be thinking the exact same thing.
Elder Vaqal inclined her head in a formal greeting, her sharp eyes examining each of them closely.
"A pleasure, young warriors. We've heard much of your bravery."
The group quickly introduced themselves, each of them still slightly bewildered by the dissonance of addressing someone who looked like a child as an elder.
The Archon continued, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.
"You'll be boarding their ship to Pygmaia's island. There, you'll receive the weapons I promised."
Amiyan's expression darkened at the reminder that he wouldn't be joining them.
His gaze dropped, hands curling into fists at his sides.
But just as he opened his mouth to protest, Elder Vaqal's attention shifted to him, her expression softening as she seemed to sense his frustration.
Before anyone could speak, a voice piped up from beside Elder Vaqal, belonging to a small Pygmaian with bright eyes and a childlike grin.
"Is it real? I heard you'll be traveling across the continent?"
Roshan turned to the young Pygmaian, slightly taken aback by the excitement radiating from her.
"Yeah… i mean, that is correct. That's the plan...Miss." She struggled to keep her tone respectful, grappling with the odd sensation of addressing someone who looked like a kid with such formalities.
Elder Vaqal chuckled softly, a twinkle in her eye as she gestured to the young girl.
"Ah, allow me to introduce my great-granddaughter, Amara."