The meeting room of the Walker Clan was softly illuminated, casting uneven shadows on the black stone walls. With the exception of the slight rustle of banners swaying in the mountain wind, the night outside was quiet.
Harvey Walker knelt before his father, Clan Head Ziltion Walker. Between them stood a long table carved with battle marks and clan emblems. The faint smell of iron and spiritual ash lingered in the air—a scent that had long become familiar in the Walker household.
Ziltion's gaze was cold, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the open map of the competition grounds. Like a blade, his voice sliced through the quiet.
"Tomorrow, the city will roar," he said slowly. "Ten stages. Ten chances to claim victory before all of Celestial Brook."
Harvey kept his head bowed. "We will not disappoint you, Father."
