The days pass by, the day of the final arrive.
The roar of the finals crowd was a physical force, a tidal wave crashing against the walls of the Imperial Arena.
Eamond stood near the competitors' entrance, Vale a stoic shadow beside him, the chaotic energy of the festival food lane a distant memory replaced by the focused intensity of the coliseum.
Below, the sand of the central ring was meticulously raked, awaiting the two finalists.
"Remember that young man I told you about?" Eamond murmured, his eyes scanning the arena floor, the image of the heartbroken pie-boy superimposed on the grandeur.
"The one with the... unfortunate pastry?"
Vale followed his gaze, though Eamond knew the bodyguard was constantly assessing the entire space. "Vaguely. Looked like he'd lost his last copper, not his lunch."
"Exactly. It felt... excessive." Eamond's brow furrowed.
