I felt as if my stomach was about to implode on itself. No elf in the history of the competition had been this young and made it to the finals. There I was, 147 years old, only a small fraction in to my life, and I was facing off against my mentor as a child.
Fletching had been my instructor for decades, helping me to perfect my aim, compensate for wind speeds, and even learn how to hit a moving target. Yet now I had the opportunity to claim the championship title and make it my own.
I had worked so hard for this moment, and it had finally arrived.
Unlike the other rounds, the finals were done a bit differently. A single target was set up at the end of the range and each of us was to take turns hitting the bulls-eye. The first person to miss would likely lose the competition. The challenge was that each participant had to fire his arrow from the spot of his competitor.
Being that he had a higher score in the semi-finals, Fletching was to take the first shot.
The veteran archery instructor took his place at the 60 meter mark. An unusual starting point, but it made sense. Most archers only practiced from the 50, 75, and 100 meter mark; he was starting out hard.
As expected, I watched as his arrow flew straight and true, hitting the target perfectly in the bulls-eye.
I took my spot and lined up my shot. I remember feeling confident as I watched my arrow soar and hone on right next to Fletching’s shot. Perfect.
Fletching nodded and waited for me to make the next. As the competition went, we switched back and forth on the distance choice.
Since he had led strongly, I decided it was time to do the same. I walked with as much poise as I could, going past the 65 mark, 70, 75, 80, and to the 85 meter mark. I took my spot and focused in on the target. I could almost make out the bulls-eye from this point, but my bet was that Fletching would have a much harder time.
I notched my arrow, held my breath, and prayed to Evorath that my aim would stay true.
While I waited for the arrow to make impact, Fletching took up position for his shot, as if he knew that I was going to hit the target. From such a distance, I could not tell for sure, so I waited for the thumbs up from the judges.
Butterflies filled my stomach as I got it.
Fletching shook his head and took his aim. I suppose my enthusiasm had shown through.
As he let his arrow fly, I felt tenser than I could ever recall before. If his shot missed, I would be the competition champion.
The next few minutes were a blur.
I remember Fletching cursed when he watched his arrow fly, and then I remember the judge signaling that he had missed. After that, the next thing I knew I was in front of the assembly accepting my trophy.
It was that day that I really felt I had become an adult.
I had won.
