The city was a tapestry of towering homes and shops, their spires stretching for the sky. Small rooftop fountains cascaded down the sides of these structures, their waters meandering through various floors before descending to join the river that wound through the city''s surface streets. Many flowers bloomed on the sides of these towers, surviving in the cracks of the clay buildings and drinking upon the touch of the descending waterfalls.


    Each tower''s floral display conveyed its purpose: a sea of blue lilies denoted the residential quarters, stocky green philodendrons signaled a bustling market district below, and a colossal tower draped in vibrant purple hyacinths proudly proclaimed its status as the residence of the mightiest bloodline.


    Behind the purple tower was a large pond, its crystalline waters a mirror to the beautiful garden surrounding it. Within its depths, many koi fish swam and frolicked, their vibrant colours shimmering beneath the surface. At the very center of the pond, a man sat in perfect equilibrium as if an extension of the serene tableau.


    This man, while still in his prime, showed signs of premature graying in his otherwise raven-black hair. He possessed a toned, muscular physique, clad in a dark blue robe neatly fitted with a tight black vest that accentuated his form. Though the man sat impossibly upon the unbroken surface of the pond, his robe''s hem dipped through, dragging into the waters.


    With closed eyes, he delved deep into the recesses of his inner being, harnessing and refining the magical energy coursing within him. His focus honed in on the cool water below him, envisioning it as an integral part of himself. With practiced precision, he manipulated the water''s flow, amplifying its power through his own magic. In his mind''s eye, he visualized channeling this energy through his open palm, directing it back into the pond.


    A mighty stream of pressurized water burst forth from his palm, and he maintained this circular flow like a never-ending current—pond, body, hand, pond. His unwavering determination to grow stronger and better propelled him to push the boundaries of his power, inching ever closer to his goal. He wanted to be stronger, better. The reports of Névé''s recent sighting at Abut just before the white witch attacked it practically confirmed her betrayal against the Sodality of Rain. Memories of their last encounter during the elemental festival eight years ago loomed in his thoughts, and he was resolute in not allowing history to repeat itself.


    While he longed to devote all his time to training and meditation, he knew his responsibilities called him away.


    The man got up and walked out of the pond. With a wave of his hand, the water that soaked his robe flew out of the cloth and back into the pond. The man made his way back into the massive building before him; its large halls were immaculately pristine and ordered.


    Inside, he navigated the polished floors, eventually reaching a small closet adorned with a wall of levers. Pulling one of the levers initiated the sound of rushing water behind the closet walls, which the man knew would flow onto a small waterwheel, setting it into motion. With the whir of the waterwheel, the closet began its ascent, slowly carrying the man higher up the tower past many floors until it came to a halt, allowing him to exit onto a higher floor of the building.


    Further down the hall, he encountered a familiar figure—a stout, older man with a beard as fluffy as his bald head wasn''t.


    Unfortunately, the older man immediately noticed the elevator''s arrival and began to waddle over as he exclaimed, "Oh, Master Firn, I was just on the hunt for you!"


    Firn responded evenly. "I was meditating in the Bathos pool."


    "As you should, as you should. I expect to hear that you make good on your rematch with that firebrat Scoria." The old man chuckled as if he was being encouraging, but Firn could only sense the disappointment hidden in his words.


    "There won''t be an elemental festival this year." Firn explained


    "Why not?"


    "Turn of the century, the Tournament starts this year. All of the clan''s best fighters will be busy."


    "Ah, yes, I completely forgot about that. You know me, I really couldn''t care less about you kids and your little fights. But that just means if you get invited to the Tournament, you can have your rematch with Scoria then." The old man said in a failing attempt to comfort.


    "If he is also invited to the Tournament." Firn added.


    "Oh yes, yes. Anyway, what I actually wanted to talk to you about was the situation with my lake?"


    Firn stopped momentarily, confused, " If you''re having a problem with monsters, that''s not really something I deal with. You would be better off talking with the adventurer''s guild."


    Firn began to walk away but was interrupted as the old man stepped in his way. " No, no, not those lakes; I meant my Pleurothallidinae situation north of the Pulchritudinous Lake. You see, I have been speaking with some contractors and was wondering when they could sail over and begin redevelopment."


    Firn was at a loss for words: "That lake belongs to the Vampire. You can''t send contractors there; it''s enemy territory!"The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Firn was aghast, but the old man simply waved him off. "Well, you''re taking care of that anyway. How long does winning a war against a small city-state take?"


    Firn could only sigh in total exasperation. "A long time, but don''t worry, it is being handled by our best."


    The elderly man kept his placid smile but was clearly starting to get annoyed, "Yes, with my generous contributions. So excuse me if I would like to know who are the ''best'' and how they''re spending my money?"


    Firn stopped himself from rolling his eyes, annoyed at how this aristocrat seemed to think he was financing this entire endeavour. "Look, we''re in the process of forming our militia to deal with it. I''ve recently hired the Banausic Cardinals to assist. They''re a very skilled up-and-coming adventurer group that even impressed the Hero of New Heirisson conquest. Progress has been better than expected; the militia is proving quite popular and has attracted many of our most skilled fighters. It seems quite a few people are excited to reclaim Hullabaloo. Regardless, General Aphor is heading the militia now; I''m no longer involved, so you''ll need to talk to him for anything more."


    Firn spoke briskly and sternly. He was growing weary of the constant need to reiterate every minute detail of his actions to these senile old men. The elders never seemed to trust him, or perhaps just expected too much ever since the duel with Névé. Combined with the current state of the Sodality of Rain, made him feel like a scapegoat, constantly bearing the burden of blame and pressure.


    Any of Firn''s frustration seemed to all go over the elder''s head as he asked, "Well, I was just wondering, with the current movements of the…"


    Firn quickly interrupted, "Talk with General Aphor for any information. I am no longer involved and am very busy. It was nice talking with you, but I must take my leave."


    Before the stunned elder could react, Firn walked past him and quickly made his way down the hallway, venturing deeper into the building. His journey led him to a pair of imposing steel doors. Positioned before the doors were two hefty men who engaged in hushed giggles and whispered conversations, oblivious to his approach.


    "Something funny?" Firn asked.


    The men turned to see Firn and hesitated momentarily as if debating whether it was worth acknowledging him. "No, Master Firn," one of the men replied with a dismissive tone. The lack of respect rankled Firn, but he pretended not to notice. He stood before them, waiting patiently as the two men stared back with bored and slightly irritated expressions.


    "Will you open the door?" Firn''s patience was beginning to wear thin.


    "Sorry Master Firn. The chief is busy."


    Firn furrowed his brows in annoyance. "Open the door."


    The two men exchanged glances, each hoping the other would handle the situation. Finally, one of them turned back to Firn and, recognizing the determination in his gaze, relented. "Yes, Master Firn."


    The two men planted their arms firmly against one of the massive steel doors, straining with all their might to push it open. At first, the door resisted, their efforts accompanied by strenuous grunts and creaking resistance. Gradually, however, the doors began to yield, revealing the colossal room within. Firn stepped into the expansive chamber, and as he cleared the threshold, the door behind him began to close with a gradual, resounding thud.


    The room was an oasis of tranquillity, featuring a cozy visiting area adorned with plush couches and chairs encircling a low, ornate table. Behind this inviting space, a grand balcony stretched out, offering a breathtaking view of the lush, garden-like metropolis below.


    On one side of the room, a small wading pool was nestled, its waters kept blissfully warm by a cadre of diligent servants who fed it with warm coals, the rising steam adding a soothing weight to the air. Within the pool reclined a robust, elderly man of imposing stature, his arms casually draped over the pool''s edge, one hand firmly clasping a drink—almost certainly of the alcoholic variety.


    The relaxed old man reclined further in the pool, an air of nonchalance about him as he asked, "Any news on the earthen anomalies?"


    Firn angrily spoke, ignoring the question he received. "You need to get new guards; they don''t understand respect, and I saw them slacking off."


    The old man''s reply was brusque. "Why should they show respect to you?"


    "If I''m going to be the next chief, I should be treated as such! That also goes for you!" Firn retorted sharply, gesturing toward the servants who moved about the room. "What kind of impression does it leave when you treat me like this in front of others?"


    "Who said you were going to be the next chief?" The old man''s unexpected response left Firn momentarily taken aback.


    His surprise quickly gave way to anger. "Father! I''ve been raised with the understanding that I would become the next chief. I''ve spent decades training and preparing for this role! And now you''re suddenly throwing this uncertainty at me?"


    "Well, at the time, I didn''t know you would turn out to be such a disappointment."


    "I''m the disappointment?" Firn exclaimed incredulously, pointing an accusatory finger at his father, who lounged idly in the warm embrace of his heated pool. "Compared to you, What could I have possibly done that gives you the right to call me a disappointment?"


    "You lose and lose more. That''s what you do, and that''s what you''ll always do. Have you brought Névé back?"


    "You can''t be serious! You would have her become the next chief? She''s a traitor! She''s consorting with the White Witch. If she were to lead the Sodality, what would the rest of the world think of us?"


    "Typical of you not to see beyond your own self-interest," the old man sighed, his demeanour more serious now. "If you want any chance of the Sodality accepting you as the next chief, you must prove that you can defeat Névé and bring her back. This is the only way to show the Pangean Entente that the Sodality of Rain isn''t aligned with that wretched White Witch. Do you think I don''t want to make you the next chief? Do you think I want a loser son? No, but here I am. Looking at a failure that can do nothing but disappoi-."


    Firn''s father was interrupted by the loud chime of a bell. Suddenly, a few feet from Firn, there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus that grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. The arm was outstretched towards Firn, holding a glowing parchment: It read.


    <table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 62.5662%; background-color: rgba(255, 213, 171, 1); border-color: rgba(235, 164, 57, 1); border-style: ridge" border="1">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">You have been invited to</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">The Tournament</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">You are The River</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>