The ticket office was two blocks from the great arena under construction, a small wooden building with counters facing the street, each topped with a hand-painted sign announcing the corresponding event. An orderly line, much shorter than the one seen at the harbor days before, wound in front of each of the three open windows, people chatting among themselves while waiting their turn, some already holding their tickets, waving them like personal trophies, others still undecided on which event to choose, loudly consulting with their companions.
The air was charged with a widespread excitement Simon hadn't yet perceived so clearly since arriving in Cajin — children running between adults' legs waving small flags in the guild colors, street vendors offering sweets decorated with the same compass emblem seen on the Explorers' headquarters, a group of boys dueling with imaginary sticks, clumsily imitating what they imagined were the movements of the tournament's real fighters. Somewhere not far off, a street musician played a lively tune on a stringed instrument Simon didn't recognize, the music blending into the crowd's general murmur in an almost festive backdrop.
A street vendor stopped them for a moment, offering small enameled pins with the symbols of the four guilds, insisting they brought good luck to whoever wore them during the events. Corin declined with a polite smile, pulling Simon past before he could be tempted by what was, quite evidently, a purely commercial gimmick.
"You could've bought me one," Simon said, half joking, as they walked away.
"And throw away more Pennies on useless trinkets?" Corin said. "Absolutely not. If you want luck, hold onto it inside yourself. It's free, and works just as well, statistically speaking."
Simon stopped to look at the posters hung along the building's facade before even getting in line, and couldn't hold back a smile.
The first depicted two stylized figures, one wrapped in golden flames and the other surrounded by dark shadows, drawn hurling themselves at each other in a whirl of vivid colors that seemed almost to move on the canvas, the drawing was so elaborate. Below, in large golden letters, it read: Best Magic Challenge — Semifinal, Day 10, Lunchtime. Further down, in smaller print, were listed the names of a few expected competitors, none of which meant anything at all to Simon.
"The Fantasy Got Talent semifinal," Simon said, nodding at the poster.
Corin looked at him, as puzzled as always by his incomprehensible references. "The what?"
"Never mind," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "Just imagine a show where people perform in front of a panel of judges who score how good you are at something spectacular — singing, dancing, magic tricks, anything. Apparently it exists here too, just with more lightning bolts and probably fewer off-key songs sung by nervous teenagers."
"I don't know whether to be relieved or worried that your world had entertainment similar to ours," Corin said, shaking her head.
She moved to the next poster, the one for the combat tournament — two heavily armored warriors, swords crossed, the background painted with bursts of sparks that seemed almost animated by the way they were rendered on the canvas, bright colors sharply contrasting with the dark background chosen to emphasize the drama of the scene. Combat Tournament — Final Qualifiers, Day 9.
"This one's more like a mix between wrestling and a nineties action movie," she said, studying the details of the drawing with genuine interest, noticing the small painted cracks in the ground beneath the two fighters, as if the impact of their clash had already left its mark before it had even really begun. "People beating each other up with magic. I can't wait."
"You're weirdly enthusiastic for someone who's still scared of dragons," Corin said, an eyebrow raised.
"Being scared of a monster that could eat me in one bite without even noticing it did is one thing," Simon said. "Watching people who trained specifically to hurt each other with everyone's consent, in front of a paying audience, is another. It's a whole different category of entertainment, much more civilized in a perversely specific way."
The third poster was the most colorful of the three — a pair of figures running side by side with an animal on a leash that looked like a cross between a wolf and a shadow, while overhead flew what could only be a small hawk or a winged familiar, wings drawn in full motion above a course winding through stylized city buildings. Team Chase — Final, Day 10, Morning.
"And this," Simon said, "looks like a mix between an obstacle course and those shows where people race around the world with absurd riddles, switching modes of transport every couple of legs. Except instead of taxis and airports, they've got mist wolves and trained hawks."
"I have no idea what half the things you just named are," Corin said, "but if the comparison helps you understand what to expect, fine by me. Though I doubt the competitors here take international flights between legs."
"The day I find out they do, I promise I'll be the most surprised person on this entire continent."
They got in line at the first window, the one for combat, behind a small group of Dwarves animatedly arguing about which of the favorites would make it to the real final next year, citing names and statistics from previous tournaments with an almost sporting passion that reminded Simon of bar arguments about soccer, back in his old life. One of them, the oldest of the group, insisted vehemently that no one would ever match a certain champion who'd retired years earlier, while the other two protested animatedly, citing more recent performances.
"This really is like arguing about sports at a bar," Simon murmured to Corin, watching the oldest Dwarf of the group gesture animatedly as he listed, one after another, the tactical flaws of every single favorite named by his companions. "Sports change, fan arguments stay exactly the same."
"Some things are universal, I guess," Corin said, with an amused shrug, watching the scene herself with a mix of fondness and slight detachment, like someone who's already witnessed similar arguments dozens of times without ever quite tiring of them.
When their turn came, the clerk behind the counter — a thin man with an open register in front of him and a pen tucked behind his ear — barely looked up.
"Final qualifiers, day nine," Corin said. "Two tickets."
"Two Shields each," the man said, already dipping his pen in the inkwell to tear tickets from the pad, with the mechanical speed of someone who's repeated the same motion hundreds of times that same morning.
Corin paid without batting an eye, tucking the two small stamped cards into her bag. They moved to the next window, the one for the magic challenge, where a bored-looking woman almost mechanically repeated the price the moment Corin made the request, without even lifting her eyes from her work.
"Semifinal, day ten, lunchtime. Three Shields each."
"More expensive than combat," Simon observed, as Corin counted out the coins, sorting through the small denominations with the same precision she'd already applied to every other transaction since he'd met her.
"Magic requires more judges, more time to evaluate each performance," Corin said, without looking up from her counting. "Three skills each, one score per skill, groups of three competitors at a time — it's a show that lasts longer and involves more people behind the scenes than a simple direct clash. You need judges experienced in several different magic families, able to correctly evaluate both a solar spell and an infernal one, and that kind of expertise isn't cheap to hire for an entire afternoon."
"Makes sense," Simon said, nodding, while the woman behind the counter tore off the two tickets with quick, repetitive motions, her hand seeming to move almost automatically after hours spent doing exactly the same thing. "I guess judging three different skills per person requires more attention than just counting who's still standing at the end."
"Exactly," Corin said, taking the tickets and tucking them into her bag with the first two. "And then there's the safety issue — a spell gone wrong during a performance can cause a lot more collateral damage than a badly thrown punch in a physical combat ring. The magical protections around the arena for that specific event cost a small fortune to keep active for the whole duration."
Simon turned to look toward the still-under-construction arena, trying to imagine what kinds of invisible barriers might already be in preparation to contain whatever the competitors would unleash in a few days. "Getting more and more curious to see how all this actually works," he said, more to himself than to her.
The last window, the one for the chase, turned out to be the most expensive of the three, but also the one with the longest line — a small group of young men animatedly discussing which pair of competitors had the best odds, one of them insisting winged familiars were always at a disadvantage on narrow city courses, while another shot back citing a previous year's winner who'd used exactly a hawk to clear a decisive obstacle.
"Final, day ten, morning," the clerk said when their turn finally came, a stocky man with rolled-up sleeves and arms covered in faded ink, probably from years spent tearing tickets in that exact same spot. "Five Shields each. It's the most requested event after actual combat, so no discounts, not even for the nicest couple of the day."
"Five?" Simon said, as Corin pulled out more coins, counting them with the same methodical attention reserved for every other expense of the day. "To watch people run with dogs?"
"Familiars and trained animals, not 'dogs,'" Corin corrected, handing the coins to the clerk without even turning to look at him, by now used to correcting that kind of simplification as naturally as breathing. "And the course cuts across half the city in relay pairs — magic, creatures, real obstacles, rooftops to clear, canals to cross without getting too wet. It's probably the hardest of the three to organize, that's why it costs more: they have to block off entire streets, coordinate permits with half the city, and make sure no innocent passerby gets run over by a mist wolf sprinting at full speed."
"Suddenly the price seems more than justified," Simon said, picturing the scene with a mix of apprehension and growing curiosity.
The clerk tore off the final two tickets with a quick motion, handing them to Corin along with a distracted nod, already looking past them to the next customer in line.
They left the small ticket area with six stamped cards tucked in Corin's bag, the early afternoon sun pleasantly warming the cobblestone street, the noise of the crowd still gathered around the windows slowly fading behind them as they walked away.
"So," Simon said, mentally counting how much they'd spent in total — ten Shields each, twenty in all, a not-insignificant chunk of what remained of their little treasury, but nothing that would really put them in a bind considering how much they still had set aside. "I'd say we've got a pretty solid schedule for the next few days."
"Better than nothing," Corin said, tucking the tickets carefully into an inner pocket of her bag, as if they were something more precious than the simple cardstock they were. "And at least now you've got something concrete to look forward to, instead of continuing to ask me questions I can't answer as well as I'd like."
"Your answers are always at least entertaining, even when incomplete," Simon said, with a sincere smile.
"What a touching compliment," Corin said, but the smile lighting up her face betrayed more fondness than her words let on. "Come on. If we hurry, we can still find something to eat before the food market closes for the evening. And maybe, if you behave, I'll tell you some stories from past editions of the Festival, so you arrive at the events already knowing what to expect instead of improvising absurd comparisons to your old world for every single thing you see."
"No promises on the absurd comparisons," Simon said, following her down the street. "They're pretty much an integral part of my personality at this point."
Simon followed her down the street, his gaze returning one last time to the three colorful posters hung on the ticket office facade, feeling for the first time in days something that truly resembled pure excitement — not the fear mixed with wonder that had accompanied him since the very first instant in this world, but the simple, genuine desire to see what would happen next.