The dust from Kaelan's victory had barely settled when the horn for the fourth round blared across the Proving Grounds, a harsh, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate in the teeth of every spectator. The magical scoreboard hovering above the arena flickered, the numbers shifting with a ominous permanence: Iron-Clad: 2 – Azurefall: 1.
The momentum had shifted, if only slightly. Kaelan's impossible, one-handed victory had cracked the invincible veneer of the Northern students. They weren't cheering anymore. Their rhythmic chanting of "Iron" had died in their throats, replaced by a sullen, watchful silence. They looked at Kaelan, who was being tended to by Lia, with eyes that held less contempt and more wary calculation.
But the score was still against Azurefall. One more loss, and the mock battle—and the pride of the Academy—was over.
