The day finally came.
The pale, grey light of dawn filtered into their rooms—a quiet, unwelcome messenger announcing that their month of preparation was over.
The air in their building was still and heavy, thick with silent, nervous energy.
Dante stood before a mirror, adjusting the collar of the simple, black combat uniform he'd bought. His face was a calm, unreadable mask. Behind that mask, his mind was a storm of calculation, his new, god-like powers a quiet, humming engine waiting to be unleashed.
He walked out into the common room.
The others were already there—a silent, grim assembly of warriors. They weren't the same people who'd stumbled out of the trial. Their eyes were hard, their bodies were honed, their spirits forged in the fires of a desperate, unifying purpose.
"Now," Dante said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the morning quiet. "It's our time to shine."
