A biting north wind swept across the Glacian plains, carrying with it the promise of snow and the scent of adventure. Young Arth, a swordsman barely of age, galloped atop his horse, the crisp air biting at his exposed cheeks. His ocean-blue eyes, usually reserved, sparkled with an eager anticipation as the grand, sprawling city of Casterfall emerged from the horizon.

"Finally," he whispered, a thrill running through him. This was it. The tri-annual competition that sought the kingdom's finest warriors. It was his chance to prove himself, to rise above the humble beginnings of Frostwood Village.

As they approached the city's massive stone walls, guarded by silver-armored knights, Arth felt a mix of awe and slight nervousness. He dismounted, leading his horse across the wide drawbridge. A knight, imposing in his helm, signaled him to stop.

"Another warrior for the competition?" the knight asked, his gaze sweeping over Arth's travel-worn cloak.

"Yes, sir," Arth replied, bowing almost instinctively, then quickly straightening. He was no lord, and this knight, despite his authority, was not royalty. Such formalities felt alien to him.

"You can find the registration in the Standard Knight Academy," the knight directed, pointing a gauntleted hand. Arth nodded his thanks, stepping through the shadowed gatehouse, his senses overwhelmed by the unfamiliar smells and sounds of the bustling city. This was it. His first step into a larger world.