Ivaim Commentaries

The arena pulsed with energy as the announcer's voice boomed over the roar of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! It's time for the first match of the day!" the announcer declared with dramatic flair.

"Representing Galdren, the thunderclap terror himself—Orik, the Thunderstriker! And from Windhollow, the indomitable, the elusive, the Iron Wraith—Veta!"

Cheers and whistles echoed through the stands as the two fighters made their entrances.

Orik was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating sparks of electricity from his fingertips as though they were restless fireflies. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous confidence.

On the opposite side, Veta strode in with calm precision, her gray, metallic skin gleaming under the arena lights.

Her expression was unreadable, cold as iron, but those who knew her reputation understood the hidden menace beneath that calm.

Ivaim leaned back in his cushioned seat among the elite spectators.