"Now that the stage is ready, all participants, take your places." Caprion gave a small, respectful bow and swept an arm toward the newly broadened arena.
From every side, out of each race's gathering area, groups streamed onto the marble floor. Most were Rank 2; the rest were Rank 1. Boots clicked on stone. Armor brushed and settled. Low voices gathered into a contained hum as each race claimed a sector and formed up to await the next announcement.
Adyr chose an open patch and stood alone. He kept his breathing even while his eyes moved. Lines, distances, temperaments, escape routes, and pressure points arranged themselves in his head until the field came into focus.
With everyone gathered, the picture was clear. It was easy to see who had reached the final and how many each race still held.
In one corner stood the Umbraen. Heads lifted, eyes cool and superior. Kharom held the front. Their count reached 75, and even their silence read as confidence.
