The waiting area beneath the coliseum wasn't quiet. It was worse. It was loud in the wrong way.
Not cheering. Not celebration. But the low, constant murmur of restrained power.
The chamber was vast, carved directly beneath the arena seating. Thick stone pillars held up the structure above, each engraved with containment seals that faintly glowed blue. Torches burned along the walls, though sunlight filtered through high grated openings near the ceiling. The air smelled of iron, dust, leather, and mana.
Rows of seating had been arranged in a semicircle facing a massive iron gate that would later open toward the arena floor. The closer a participant's seat was to that gate, the more attention it drew.
Because placement meant something.
And everyone knew it.
