The Hour Before the Storm
One hour slid by like a held breath—quiet, tight, and heavy with unspoken anticipation.
The preparations for the Seven Knight Trial moved fast. Too fast. The arena below had been empty a short while ago, nothing but dust and stone arcs. Now it buzzed with motion—servants rushing across the sands to plant banners, mages carving glowing wards into the ground, engineers locking the circular barrier ring into place. The quiet hum of enchantments pulsed through the air like a heartbeat.
From the balcony—no, the command room overlooking the arena—Ben watched everything unfold with an expression that didn't quite match the weight of what he'd set into motion. He sat back in a heavy chair carved with the Lionheart sigil, elbows resting on the armrests, fingers interlaced as he looked down. From here, he had a flawless view of the entire arena—a perfect vantage point for a man who had carried both a kingdom and a family on his shoulders for decades.
