The Semi-Finals of the Grand Global Tournament were not about spectacle. They were about efficiency.
The bracket had narrowed significantly. The brutal, psychological torture of the Sand-Walkers was a bad memory. The arrogant, floating superiority of the Glacial Spire had melted away under gravity's harsh lesson. Now, only the most disciplined remained.
In the preparation room, the air was stale and smelled of chalk and nervous sweat. Kaelan Brightblade was pacing, his boots clicking rhythmically on the stone floor. He held a stack of scrolls detailing the opponent for the day: The Clockwork Mages of the Eastern Gear.
