The Dawn Arena
Dawn at the Cloud Court is a ceremony all by itself: the whole eastern sky catches fire, and the palace towers drink the color until they glow like coals. And on the great cloud-field below the towers, the entire Court has gathered in a ring to watch you.
Queen Cirra stands at the field's edge, crown of frozen lightning blazing in the sunrise. “The Sky Trials,” she announces, and her voice carries to every wing and window. “Three tests, as old as the Court. A race, to try the body. A riddle, to try the mind. And a third, to try what matters most. Pass all three, champion, and my justice — and one boon, whatever you ask — is yours. Fail, and you and your guardian leave my sky and find no help in it.”
Sera presses her nose to your ear. “I can't ride with you — champions ride alone. But Madison: the Court is proud, not wicked. Show them your whole heart. It's the best thing you've got.”
A groom leads out two mounts for your choosing. One is a broad old cloud-mare the color of rain, with kind eyes and hooves like sofa cushions. The other is a young thunderfoal, barely broken, silver-black and crackling faintly, dancing in place like he's made of sneezes.