Meanwhile, there was a heavy, disciplined silence, the kind that only existed when warriors understood that every movement would be remembered by their clans for decades.
The rookies stood in neat groups beside their adult counterparts, arranged according to bloodline and banner, while their mentors stood before them like guardians carved out of authority.
Some mentors spoke quietly to their disciples.
Some merely watched.
Some didn't even blink, their eyes sharp enough to cut through lies.
One hundred and eighty representatives.
And above them, the glass VIP chamber gleamed in the sunlight like a floating throne room.
Inside, Azzy rose.
His movement was slow, unhurried, but the moment he stood, the room seemed to acknowledge it, because demigods did not need to demand attention. Attention was forced upon everyone the moment they existed.
