The stadium was a wall of sound.
Nathan stood at the edge of the arena, Moonlight in his grip, the roar of sixty thousand spectators pressing against his ears. The lights were blinding. The screens overhead showed his face, Elise's face, Garrett's, Dillon's, Smithy's. The bracket on the far wall displayed the semifinal matchup in bold letters.
Central Federation vs. Northern Coalition.
Across the arena, Arthur Reinhardt stood like a statue. His tower shield was planted at his feet, its surface etched with runes that pulsed with soft golden light. His sword was still sheathed. His expression was calm.
Behind him, his team waited—Bjorn Eriksson, the Berserker, his massive axe resting on his shoulder; Astrid Larsen, the Ranger, her bow already drawn; Freya Nilsson, the Frost Mage, ice crystals swirling around her staff; and Erik Johansson, the Cleric, his hands glowing with healing light.
The referee's orb-face appeared above the arena. It showed a neutral expression.
