The morning sun spilled through the arena's open roof like liquid gold. It painted everything in warm amber light—the polished stone seats, the nervous faces, the massive stage below.
Ren settled into his seat. The cold wood sent a shiver up his spine. On his left, Lia bounced her leg in a rapid rhythm. On his right, Mirabella checked her nails for the third time.
The arena hummed with the energy of a few thousand prospectives. Their whispers merged into a sound like ocean waves—rising, falling, never quite silent.
"Any idea what today's trial will be?" Lia's voice cracked slightly. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the seat's edge.
Ren shook his head. The movement sent his silver hair falling across his eyes. "No clue."
CRACK!
The sound split the air like thunder. Every head snapped toward the center stage.
