The air in the Academy's subjugation hall crackled with tension.
Rows of lanterns lit up the massive stone chamber, their orange glow bouncing across reinforced steel walls. At the center lay the wide, circular arena where the coming battle would unfold—a killing ground designed to test the mettle of the Academy's most promising students.
High above, instructors and the scholars sat behind protective barriers, ready to observe and evaluate.
Among them, Freya Littlefinger leaned forward, hands folded neatly beneath her chin, eyes narrowing in interest. Mordi Reaves twirled a quill idly, jotting down notes in his worn leather book.
Frost Winister merely folded his arms, expression amused as always.
The Headmaster, Dagon Heartfield, sat at the highest pedestal, having a grim expression on his aged face while he watched what was about to unfold.
The students gathered below were buzzing like a hive on the verge of frenzy.
