Cheering for Charltotte

Eryndor watched Seraphina's figure fade into the shadows of the corridor, her words echoing in his mind. Every defeat is a step toward something greater. The sentiment resonated with him, stirring a quiet resolve. He wasn't done—not by a long shot. Rising to his feet, he gripped his staff tightly, the cool wood grounding him. If nothing else, his loss to Kael had shown him the vast gap he still needed to bridge, a challenge he now welcomed.

Meanwhile, in another part of the arena complex, the remaining competitors settled into their routines. The tension was palpable, but so was the camaraderie among those who understood the grueling journey they all shared. In a small training hall, Seraphina Dawnflare stood before a set of glowing practice dummies, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders as she unleashed precise bursts of flame. Each strike was controlled, the intensity matching her focus.