Varen Drakov sat alone in the preparation chamber, his greatsword resting across his lap, its hilt still warm to the touch from his earlier battle. The faint hum of the crowd above filtered down through the stone walls, a constant reminder of the tournament's weight and the expectation it carried. His breathing was steady, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he thought about his final opponent: Lucavion.
The name alone stirred something within him—not fear, but a tempered excitement. He'd watched Lucavion fight earlier, observed the way the unaffiliated swordsman had dismantled Lira Vaelan with an almost casual ease. Varen had seen countless battles in his time, but Lucavion's performance lingered in his mind.
