The Proving Grounds of Azurefall Academy were not designed for comfort. Unlike the polished marble of the Grand Seminar Hall or the open grassy expanse of the courtyard, this was a pit.
It was a circular arena sunk ten feet into the earth, surrounded by steep stone steps that served as seating. The floor was packed dirt and gravel, designed to absorb blood and impact. Today, the air above the pit shimmered with heat—not from the sun, but from the tension radiating off the thousand students packed onto the steps.
On the south side, the Azurefall students sat in a sea of nervous blue robes. They were silent, their eyes fixed on the center of the ring.
On the north side, the Iron-Clad Academy students sat in disciplined gray rows. They weren't silent. They were humming—a low, rhythmic, guttural chant that sounded like the idling engine of one of their war machines.
IRON. IRON. IRON.
In the center of the ring, Headmaster Alistair raised his hand. The humming stopped instantly.
