The Call of the Captains

A hush settled over the coliseum beneath a sky caught between dusk and true night. The stands, once filled with worried murmurs and tense watchfulness, now hummed with an undercurrent of excitement. Although the brutal second wave had claimed the life of one trainee, fourteen remained, healed by the captains' decision to spare no expense on high-grade potions. Their wounds may have closed, but the atmosphere still felt raw with the memory of that harrowing battle.

In the center of the arena, Melo stood next to a simple wooden podium. Around him, traces of the earlier carnage lingered—dark stains in the sand where wolves and fallen trainees had bled. Yet for all the grimness, a sense of finality and anticipation clung to the air.