The morning came not with sunlight, but with heat.
Even before they reached the arena, Luca could taste the metallic tang of molten ore in the air, hear the slow grind of ancient gears awakening beneath the stone. Lilliane walked close beside him, hands clasped nervously in front of her chest; Sylthara moved with unhurried elegance, her golden eyes scanning every rune-carved wall they passed; Selena was silent, each step measured, her expression carved from ice.
She felt different today — colder, more composed, but also wound tighter, like a bowstring drawn to its very limit.
The dwarf guard who escorted them marched with the same pride and arrogance as yesterday, but even he shot Selena a quick, uncertain glance, as though sensing the sharpness of her aura.
As they stepped through the massive archway leading into the arena, the world erupted in sound.
