Up in the highest balcony of the colosseum, where the glow of enchanted sigils dimmed the noise from below, a conversation unfolded behind thick soundproof barriers. Ones mounted by the leaders of the academies themselves.
Dean Oryll of Wyrmere, regal and severe in his layered robes, stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His sharp gaze was fixed on the magical projections hovering before him, each showing the progress of a trial participant.
Behind him, seated calmly in a carved obsidian chair, was Dean Godsthorn, ElderGlow's ancient Dean.
His white hair fell to his shoulders in silky, unbound strands, and his long beard was tucked neatly beneath a gold-trimmed mantle. Despite his age, his eyes remained sharp—steel forged in experience.
"You went beyond the council's agreed framework," Oryll said without turning. "Illusion-class spirits. Elemental constructs. A Warden. If the guilds get word of this—"
