The arena had changed.
Where once the cheers of thousands echoed from the stands, now only the crack of fists against flesh, the grunt of exertion, and the barked commands of warriors in formation filled the air. The wooden walls that had once been adorned with flowers and banners were stripped bare. The scent of blood still lingered from the tournament, but now it mingled with sweat, leather, and dust.
Eli stood in the centre of the ring, the sun casting long shadows across his crimson training suit. His chestnut hair was tied back with a leather cord, and his bare arms gleamed with sweat. His eyes scanned the line of warriors before him, all of them in various stages of readiness—some seasoned fighters, some newly blooded from the tournament.
Among them stood Brody Swift, taller than the rest, his arms crossed, face set in a half-amused smirk. Beside him was Tamzin, lithe and serious, her sandy hair tied up, her stance a hunter's crouch even at rest.
"Again!" Eli barked.
