Five minutes before the time, a sharp hiss echoed across the dome.
The sound cut through the quiet like a blade. Conversations stopped. Movements froze. Every Vanguards inside Arena V-13 turned toward the main entrance.
The doors slid open with a smooth, mechanical hum.
A Vanguard near the edge of the sparring mats took a shaky breath.
"Why's it getting hard to breathe?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Several others glanced at him, nodding slightly. They felt it too.
Then, footsteps. It was slow, heavy, and controlled.
A man stepped into the arena. He wasn't tall, but each step carried a strange gravity, like the ground itself acknowledged his presence. His head was shaved clean. His skin, dark and sun-worn, suggested years under harsh heat, not in comfort. His frame was solid with broad shoulders, thick arms, not bulky but compact like a coiled spring.
But what truly froze the room wasn't how he looked. It was the weight in the air.
