The Arena Sector was a cathedral of violence.
It was a circular coliseum carved from black basalt, buried deep beneath the Academy's foundation. The air was recycled, tasting of ozone and cold stone. Floodlights mounted on the high ceiling cast harsh, sterile beams onto the combat floor, cutting the shadows into sharp, jagged shapes.
There were twenty-six students in the room.
Six of them stood in a loose cluster near the eastern gate. They were the anomalies. The First Years who had usurped the natural order.
Vane stood at the front. He leaned on his spear, the ash-wood shaft warm against his palm. His posture was relaxed, deceptive in its looseness. Under the fabric of his uniform, the silver mana of the [Silver Fang] cycled through his marrow. It was a low, predatory hum.
Across the arena stood the twenty Second Year Sentinels.
They were older. Their mana was denser, refined by an extra year of brutal conditioning. They wore their seniority like armor.
