The underground arena shimmered with anticipation. Shadows danced along the cold stone walls, cast by flickering lanterns that swung gently in the stale air. Here, beneath the city's dark veneer, warriors gathered, cloaked in anonymity and fierce resolve. It was a place where challenges were accepted, where strength was measured not in words but in blood, sweat, and the roar of combat.
Mwana stood at the edge of the ring, eyes calm but burning with expectation. Though still a beginner in the realm of magic, his innate talent thrummed with latent power. His core, the mysterious Flame, pulsed faintly beneath his skin—an unspoken promise of potential as one of the descendants of the ancient great monarchs.
