Another match started moments later.
A duel between two inner disciples, both skilled in movement techniques. They flashed across the stage, leaving afterimages, kicking up bursts of wind as they clashed midair. The crowd leaned forward.
In the outer corner, a group of younger disciples sat together, pointing and whispering, excited by every burst of light and clash of blades.
"Do you think we'll be up there next year?" one asked.
"Only if you stop skipping morning drills," another said.
They all laughed.
But in their hearts, they hoped. They wanted to be there too.
The Empyrean Harmony Sect was steeped in tradition. Advancement wasn't handed out. It was earned, shown, and recognized. Today was proof of that system, not perfect, but fair.
The sky slowly brightened as the matches continued. The warmth of the sun mixed with the tension on the arena floor. Fighters bowed. Names were called. Dust rose. Cheers followed.
Then the announcer's voice rang out again.
