The roar of the crowd still echoed from the aftermath of House Veyra's overwhelming victory. The light projections slowly dimmed, the crystalline Sphere of Concord — now reformed — pulsed anew, casting tranquil arcs of magic across the colosseum's dome.
Elric's voice, slightly hoarse from the previous match, picked up once more.
"Ladies and gentlemen — if you've just returned to your seats after the storm that was Match One, welcome back," he announced, gesturing broadly to the center stage. "If you're still catching your breath… you're not alone."
Myra chuckled softly. "House Veyra's performance was one for the archives. Tactical brilliance, calculated dominance, and Lady Veyra herself showing why she's not just a name — but a reckoning."
"Now," Elric continued, his tone sharpening with anticipation, "the Sphere of Concord is whole once more, glowing with new judgment — ready to deliver its next pairing. Twenty glyphs remain. Twenty destinies. Who faces who?"
The center of the arena pulsed as the Obsidian Pillar rose again, its runes softly glowing as the Sphere hovered above, spinning with delicate grace.
With a chime that resonated through every stone of the colosseum, the Sphere of Concord burst into radiant light, twenty glyphs soaring upward in arcs of colored brilliance. The threads twisted, danced, collided — forming glowing lines of fate.
Two glyphs glowed brighter than the rest, and in the sky above, gleaming letters appeared —
The arena's dome shimmered anew, magic resetting the battlefield of the first match. Wind passed through the towering rafters, and tension settled again like a second skin.
The crystal projection pulsed to life, and with it — the familiar voices of Elric and Myra.
Myra gasped, sitting forward. "Oh, now this is going to be interesting."
"And we are back," Elric began, his voice a touch more subdued than before. "After House Veyra displayed dominance in the opening match… it's time for the second battle of the House Wars."
"Indeed," Myra added with a forced brightness. "Our next contenders have stepped forward. The Sphere of Concord has made its decision. It's…" Her voice trailed just a fraction before recovering, "House Orlean — versus House Zervas."
A murmur rippled across the stands. Whispers followed. A few polite claps, followed by an uncertain hush.
Myra glanced toward the lens, then pressed on, her tone carefully modulated. "House Orlean, of course, needs no introduction. A royal house, one of unmatched prestige, though… not yet tested in the crucible of victory."
Elric cleared his throat, nodding tightly. "Yes — historically, House Orlean has… participated with dignity, if not results. Though they carry the name of the throne, their records remain unpolished. But names… names can change everything."
"Change is in the air," Myra offered helpfully. "And there's something to be said for mystery. Perhaps this will be their renaissance."
Neither said aloud what the entire arena already understood — that House Orlean had never won a single match in previous House Wars and, hence never finished in the top ten.
Whispers among the crowd circled the same truth: the royal daughters — were often guided more toward diplomacy, court grace, and tradition-bound expectations. Combat was… discouraged. Taboo, even.
Strategic coordination had always been Orlean's weakest point, only in the institute.
Yet to say so aloud — especially before an audience with royal patrons in attendance — would be heresy. So the commentators smiled, lifted their chins, and held their silence.
From the southern gate emerged a group of eight. At their front was Princess Cassandra Orlean there was a quiet defiance in his eyes. Beside her walked the twins, Elaine and Evaline, silent and focused.
The rest of the team followed with a mix of elegance and quiet tension. Liam was unaccustomed to the pressure of battlefield display but he did not flinch beneath the scrutiny of thousands.
"House Orlean takes the field," Elric announced, giving extra weight to each word. "Led today by Princess Cassandra Orlean — eldest daughter of Queen Isabella and this year's House Commander. Calm, composed… and rarely seen on the front lines. The only prince of the royal house currently enrolled, Prince Liam, stands at her side. The others, as many of you know, are… pursuing the trials after Rite of Recognition to determine succession."
Myra nodded, her voice measured. "That leaves this team composed entirely of younger royals and their companions. A rare formation. One might even say — unique."
"And with only five combat-certified participants on record," Elric added carefully, "I wonder how they'll perform in an arena built for blood and strategy. But as history shows — the House Wars are full of surprises."
The group reached their assigned staging point.
Myra leaned forward slightly. "This year's roster may not resemble traditional warbands… but unpredictability has always been the most dangerous weapon of all."
From the opposite side came thunder. Not literal — but in step, in momentum, in presence.
House Zervas arrived like a dark wave. Their colors were ash-grey and deep maroon. Their movements were fast, tight, and coordinated.
At their center strode Rion Zervas, fifth-generation heir of the blood-bound Zeal-Knights of Vanheim, a lineage known for battlefield execution and unsentimental warfare in Ironhelm's Imperial Army.
Rion gave no glance to the audience. His eyes were locked on the Orlean line — measuring, weighing, dismissing.
To his left and right were veterans of prior Trials, including Selka Ren, known for her deadly Curse Hex circles, and Torian Vel, a kinetic-armored bruiser. The commentators didn't fail to mention his achievement of flattening half a team last year.
"House Zervas," Myra said, more energized now. "A feared name in the mid-tier houses. Known for aggression, surgical strikes, and… results."
"They've reached the quarter-finals three years in a row," Elric added. "This is not a house to underestimate."
Myra flipped the coin, the enchantment igniting along its surface.
The coin turned — then hovered in the air.
"Half sun," Elric announced.
"House Zervas chooses the home field," Rion said without hesitation. "We take the higher ground."
Myra raised a brow. "And they choose the high ground. A natural field for ranged attacks and curse placement. An advantage already claimed. Soon the battlefield will be seen, but he already gave a clue, quite confident."
The terrain flashed as the containment dome began to solidify again — staff chanting in unison, lines of ancient runes spiraling upward like a cage of light. As it snapped shut, the world inside changed.
Grass receded. Stone jutted from the floor in sharp, deliberate angles. Jagged outcroppings split the flatness, and from above, a steady drizzle of grey ash began to fall, carried on programmed winds. The floor sloped in cruel design — a long incline stretching from the Orlean base up toward the elevated Zervas line, a position of height and vision.
"The Ashen Plateau," Elric announced, his voice echoing as the field completed its grim transformation. "A battlefield soaked in Ironhelm's past… and blood."
Myra's tone lowered. "The rebellion."
A hush fell across the audience.
"Many say it was the work of misguided idealists," Elric continued, "some even whisper it was incited by foreign hands. But what is fact — is that the rebellion's opening movements were devastating. Several cities fell within days, with frightening coordination and minimal civilian casualties. They were organized. Tactical."
"Until they tried to cross the Ashen Plateau," Myra finished. "The siege that lasted a month… ended in three days. The Ironhelm Imperial Army waited here — and shattered them."
Now, the field mimicked that very memory.
Inside the dome, two flags shimmered on either end. On the high line — House Zervas, armed, armored, and arrayed in tactical clusters. They had numbers. Twenty-four strong.
Below them, beginning at the edge of the slope — House Orlean. Eight.
"Today's battle," Elric said, "will be fought in smallest-unit formations — a tribute to how engagements were waged during the original conflict. This is not a line charge — this is skirmish strategy."
Myra added quickly, "Zervas will descend from the ridge — just as the Imperial forces once did — commanding vision, terrain, and casting advantage. Earth element has some benefit here, but every other path will struggle. It's one of the few fields where mobility can't compensate for lack of cover. Unfortunately, the Roya — House Orlean is taking charge as the rebellion."
They tried to keep their voices balanced, and respectful.
But no one in the crowd was fooled.
The difference in numbers. The battlefield. The legacy of the plateau.
Everyone knew who had the upper hand.
Inside the dome, beneath the cold silver glow of the magical sky, Princess Cassandra Orlean turned swiftly toward her team.
No war cry had been sounded. No sand had yet begun to fall.
They had seconds.
"Pairs," she ordered, voice clipped but steady. "We take the approach used in wall breaching — eight for eight. Hit them in pulses, not waves. Overwhelm their first line scouts before they reorganize."
Liam's brow furrowed. "That's assuming they let us reach their scouts."
"I know," she said, quickly. "I also know we don't win this. But we do not let them sweep us. We fight smart, we fight fast — and we make every exchange cost them."
The twins, Serena, Theo, James and William exchanged quiet nods. No fear in their eyes — only resolve, perhaps spurred by the sheer weight of standing beneath the Dome of Accord.
Cassandra closed her eyes, recalling a strategy lesson from a dusty scroll she'd once read in boredom — a tactic used by a desperate northern garrison in a hopeless standoff.
She spoke again.
"Break them at the knees before they stomp us. The ones who chase — we scatter them. The ones who hold — we feint. Stick to the terrain, use Dust Cloud, anything. But no heroics. Understood?"
One by one, heads nodded. They took positions.
The sky above began to shimmer again — blue sand poured into the hourglass hovering at the dome's center.
The war horn sounded.
"Let the match… begin!"
The horn had barely faded before Cassandra's order echoed across the slope.
"Move!"
Eight broke into pairs. They surged upward in a sharp, jagged arrowhead — kicking up ash, heels scraping stone. The incline fought their steps, but momentum pushed them higher.
Above, House Zervas did not move.
They stood like a ridge of statues, formation spread wide, shielded and silent — thirty feet above, watching. Waiting.
Elric's voice shifted with curiosity. "They're not charging. Not even posturing. This… isn't arrogance. It's discipline."
"They're holding the line," Myra said slowly. "They want Orlean to come to them."
But the crowd wasn't watching Zervas.
They were watching Theo.
He broke forward from the arrow's center, spellblade in hand, ash swirling around his boots like smoke. A single pivot — then three sixth-year students met him head-on.
Steel clashed.
Theo parried once, twisted, and smashed a knee into one shieldbearer's ribs before pivoting his blade upward and casting a Flash Burst. One of the sixth-years staggered, momentarily blind — and Theo didn't stop.
The crowd roared.
Elric all but shouted, "There he is — Theo von Braun of House Orlean! A Fifth Blaze Specialist — the highest-ranked student in the entire institute! And he's making a statement!"
Inside the dome, one of the sixth-year students snarled and lunged.
Theo smiled.
"You might win the event. Maybe even take the top ranking. But…" He leaned in as his blade met the boy's shoulder plate. "You'll always be second to me."
The strike sparked — deflected not by his opponent, but by a rising shield from the side.
"Torian!" the defender barked. "Don't lose your head."
"We hold formation!" another shouted — Rion, the second shield.
Now it was Theo versus three.
And he did not yield.
He twisted through them, drawing strikes, channeling elemental reinforcements into his blade — fast, aggressive, almost reckless. Until another presence arrived behind him.
Mana Regeneration.
Cassandra's spell was precise.
A pulse of magic surged into Theo. His stance shifted. His pace accelerated.
He became more.
Spells burst from his blade. The slope trembled. Six Zervas combatants peeled away from the formation to deal with him — and even then, they struggled.
Myra nearly stood from her seat. "He's tearing them apart! Six against one — and they're still losing ground!"
"And look!" Elric pointed as the others emerged from the wings of the formation.
James, William, Elaine, and Evaline.
They flanked around Theo's brawl, engaging Zervas combatants on the perimeter. James and William, ever theatrical, unleashed their spells with bravado and mockery.
"Still trying to impress her?" James taunted, unleashing a blunt-force push at a classmate's knees. "She didn't even remember your name after Midyear."
The poor boy hesitated — and that was all James needed to land the second strike.
"Still not Theo though," he added with a sigh.
William held against two knights — efficient, measured, surprisingly deft for someone who'd never craved the stage.
Meanwhile, Elaine and Evaline rained down elemental bursts from midrange, holding just enough distance to keep mobile while striking hard and fast. Cassandra stood at the rear, casting Restorare when needed — keeping her team on their feet.
Only Serena fought entirely alone — her small frame locked in precise combat with a second-year mage, evenly matched but holding her own.
And beside Cassandra stood Liam, unmoving, watching.
On the other side, Zervas remained stubbornly defensive.
Elric squinted. "This… doesn't feel like panic. Twelve of them are engaged, but it's controlled. The rest are on a perfect rotation — waiting. Like they planned for this exact pressure."
"They're not giving Orlean any free gaps," Myra muttered.
Then her eyes lingered on Theo. Just for a beat too long.
She caught herself and cleared her throat.
"I mean — yeah. No chances. Zervas is playing it smart."
Elric glanced sideways with a smirk but didn't comment.
Inside the dome, Liam leaned slightly toward Cassandra, voice quiet.
"This doesn't feel right."
She didn't answer at first — only glanced at the hourglass, watching blue grains slip down.
A quarter of the hour gone.
And then — Zervas moved.
It wasn't a charge. It was pressure.
Their midline stepped forward in synchronized motion — closing the gaps between combatants, subtly surrounding, shifting like a tide about to crash.
The high ground was no longer just an advantage.
It was a noose tightening.
Liam's voice was low but urgent.
"Sister… Selka Ren. Sixth year. I haven't seen her once."
Cassandra didn't respond at first. She, too, felt it — that prickling unease that danced along her skin like static.
The enemy wasn't pressing. They were descending. Slowly. Strategically.
Liam glanced upward. "How long has it been since the match began?"
She pointed without turning, focus still locked on the battle ahead. The blue sand continued to fall — more than a quarter gone.
"Senior Theo hasn't let anyone reach us… and they haven't tried either." Liam's voice thinned. "Something doesn't—"
A chill sliced down his spine.
He shouted, "Sister Elaine! Dust Cloud — now!"
Elaine blinked, startled, breaking focus just as a stray arc of magic hurtled toward her. James intercepted it with a shield burst.
Cassandra's head snapped toward Liam, eyes sharp with rebuke.
But Elaine obeyed.
She slammed her hands into the ground — a blast of dust erupted, shrouding the battlefield in a storm of grey haze.
And then, it happened.
From the earth beneath their feet, withered vines erupted, surging toward every member of House Orlean like grasping claws.
Liam didn't hesitate. He threw himself against Cassandra, tackling her just as one vine whipped past where her legs had been a second before.
"Get down!"
They rolled, dodging one another. Just feet from them, the ground trembled again — then came the voice:
"Flame Pillar. Now."
Rion.
Liam's instincts screamed. He grabbed Cassandra's wrist and yanked her away from the vine cluster just as they erupted in fire, searing heat exploding outward. The vines burned, curled, then crumbled — and still the heat surged.
"Theo—!" Cassandra's voice broke.
Where Theo had once stood, only flames now danced — feeding off the burning vines like kindling. But the fire didn't spread outward. It burned inward, controlled, precise.
Liam saw four instantaneous flower petals blowing — The Death Mirage. It was where James William Elaine and Evsline stood.
From within the clouded blaze, Theo stood — barely — bound in place, seared, held not by magic alone… but by a curse.
"Restorare!" Liam cried.
Cassandra cast it without hesitation — but the spell halted midair, flaring uselessly against a shimmering wall.
A Barrier.
As the dust thinned, the crowd saw her — standing calmly before the burning pillar.
Selka Ren.
She had made her move.
Cassandra's eyes blazed. "You—"
"Not now, sister," Liam cut in. "We have to fall back. Senior Theo will survive this… but we can't save him."
She froze — torn — but even she knew.
Six of Zervas' finest stood surrounding Theo's charred form. And among them, Torian stepped forward slowly, a cruel grin in place.
"What happened?" he sneered. "You look pitiful."
"What happened to your strength?" He leaned in mockingly.
Theo met his gaze, eyes scorched but defiant. "Still here," he rasped, "challenging six of you… a hiding curse mancer."
He glanced past them to Selka Ren.
"And a cowardly mage."
Before Torian could retort, Rion approached from behind.
"Enough." He stepped forward with careful grace. "You have my respect, Senior Theo. Truly. Why not join our alliance in the Tenfold Round? I've admired your prowess since my first year."
He extended a hand in courtesy.
Theo didn't even flinch.
"Shut up and do what you came for."
Rion's smile faded. "I'm sorry, then."
He drew a dagger — and plunged it down.
It struck nothing.
Theo shimmered — and vanished.
A Death Mirage.
Above the arena, the commentators scrambled for clarity.
"What just happened?! "
"A Death Mirage. He has fallen."
Myra leaned forward, voice tense.
"That spell — Earth Bind. We've seen it before. Selka Ren used it in last year's quarterfinals. Anyone who doesn't move in time… gets caught. Bound. Then the Curse takes hold."
Elric added, "It explains everything. The passive formation — the delayed offense. They were stalling for Beacon — a precision locator spell. Long cast time. Must be channeled in secret. Pinpoints target through the terrain."
He inhaled.
"They weren't waiting. They were marking."
"Five of the eight Orlean members were hit. But miraculously… three evaded it."
"Princess Cassandra. Serena Beckett. And… Prince Liam."
Back in the arena, as the ash cleared and the dust cloud scattered…
The earth trembled.
The terrain was shifting.
The slope they stood upon rippled like water — then slowly slid, becoming downhill, a funneling descent toward the forest's edge.
"The land is moving…" Elric gasped.
Myra spotted movement. "They're escaping! Cassandra, Serena, and Liam — they're heading into the trees!"
Rion stood at the edge, unbothered.
He didn't yell.
He didn't panic.
"Send the scouts." His voice was calm. Cold. "We chase."
Cassandra's breaths were uneven, her thoughts racing even faster.
"Sister," Liam called as they slowed near the tree line. "Do we have anything left?"
"We don't."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then Cassandra met his eyes — not as a princess, not as a sister, but as a soldier.
"Then I'm afraid we have to part ways… and hope."
Liam nodded once. "We stall the time. That's all we can do."
With no other words, they split.
Above the Dome of Accord, the great screen pulsed, capturing the chaos in sweeping arcs. The commentators' voices trembled.
"They're trying to stall — that's clear. Only three-fourths of the hourglass remains. But to hold on that long? It's nearly impossible."
"House Orlean is in trouble."
Inside the forest's edge, the trio darted in different directions — Liam, Cassandra, and Serena each disappearing into the dense, shifting woodland.
Cassandra moved like the wind, her footsteps light and deliberate. She had reached the Specialist Realm, and it showed. Her control was sharper, her aura lean and honed. The scouts noticed.
And they followed.
Back on the slope, the battlefield continued its slow, deliberate descent — like a landslide directed by will alone.
Rion descended with it, his pace unhurried, eyes tracking the forest like a predator.
Torian, less composed, looked around with frustration.
"What now? This should've been over. Three of them are still out there!"
"Relax, Senior Torian," Rion said, voice calm as ever.
"The scouts will mark them with Beacon. That's all we need. Until then, we descend… slowly. The terrain is shifting. We don't want to be caught outside the field, do we?"
"Out of bounds! That's the key!"
"The first team to reach the terrain's edge controls the flow — and the terrain begins to shift toward them. But if the opposing team can't keep up — if even one member slips beyond the shifting edge — they're considered out of bounds. I don't think that will be the case."
In the shadow of the forest, Cassandra turned briefly — watching the trees ripple behind her.
She whispered to herself, "Just last the hour… stall the sands."
She vanished into the dark.
Liam was somewhere else in the forest. His breathing was tight, but his steps never faltered.
Before even half the sand had fallen, a scout finally caught up to Liam.
He didn't run.
He didn't even reach for his assigned dagger.
He simply stood there, arms at his sides, calm as the wind whispering through the trees.
The scout — a second-year student — hesitated as he approached.
"I… I'm sorry, Prince Liam."
Liam's voice was soft. "It's alright. It's just a game."
But then his tone shifted — quiet, but suddenly sharp. "Because if it wasn't, there would've been blood."
The scout froze mid-step.
Outside the Dome of Accord, the commentators leaned in, tense.
"This… this is unprecedented."
"In the history of the Arthur Royal Institute — never has a royal prince participated in a House Wars… let alone been targeted. This is uncharted territory."
Back in the forest, Liam gave a faint chuckle. "I'm kidding. Relax."
He sat down beneath a tree, brushing the dust from his knees.
"It's a simulation. Do what you're supposed to do. Don't worry — I won't be the reason new rules get written."
The scout inched forward, cautiously trying for a beacon mark.
Thud.
A dagger buried into the ground — right where the scout had stood.
Then he vanished — a Death Mirage.
Serena landed in front of Liam
"U-Uh… Miss Serena?" Liam blinked in surprise. "Was that… allowed?"
"Yes."
"I don't mean that ." He pointed vaguely. "I mean this. He hesitated because of who I am."
Serena didn't look away. "Will it be reflected in points?"
Liam blinked. "…You're still worried about points?"
She tilted her head. "You're not?"
He smiled faintly. "How are you even fine? Even Senior Theo fell."
She raised an eyebrow. "How are you fine?"
He hesitated. "…Sister Cassandra."
"Uh-huh."
"Now your turn."
"Huh?" She frowned, cheeks warming.
"What, did I say something funny?"
"No, just… actually…" Serena scratched her cheek. "In the dust storm… I couldn't see anything for a critical moment."
"And?"
"…I…"
"You what?"
She groaned. "I lost my balance and fell downhill."
Liam blinked — then burst into laughter.
"You what—?! Hahaha —"
"Hey!" Serena's face was flushed. "It's not that funny!"
"It is, I'm sorry, it's not the time to — hahaha!"
Serena turned away in mock frustration. "I don't care anymore. I didn't even want to be part of this stupid war."
"Hey."
"What?"
He stood. "I'm sorry. I was out of line. You did save me."
A pause. "After this battle ends… my treat."
She turned halfway, one brow raised. "Alright."
"…Huh? So quick?"
"Well, since I'm still in the game…" She smirked. "Let's run."
Liam grinned.
Together, they vanished deeper into the trees.
Cassandra stood still as the forest canopy shivered above her. She was surrounded — a ring of scouts closing in with quiet, deliberate steps.
Moments later, Rion's unit arrived — composed, calculating, the heart of the opposing team.
He approached her without hostility, his expression unreadable.
"Princess Cassandra," he said, voice formal, almost courteous. "Surrender. You've stalled long enough."
Cassandra looked around once. No panic. No fear. Just a tired, burning resolve in her eyes.
"Does it even matter now?" she said quietly. "When there are only two of us left?"
Rion tilted his head. "Actually…" he raised three fingers. "There are three."
She frowned. "No. No way Theo would ever surrender — "
"Relax," Rion cut in calmly. "Senior Theo isn't one of them."
Before she could speak, a voice echoed through the trees.
"Rion."
Selka Ren stepped forward, her expression grim. A glimmering crystal hovered near her shoulder, humming faintly with Beacon energy.
"One of the beacon imprinters has left the battlefield."
Rion's eyes narrowed instantly. The calm vanished, replaced by irritation — tightly masked but unmistakable. His jaw tightened as he exhaled once, slowly.
"Left the battlefield…?"
Selka nodded. "His marker faded. He is out."
Rion didn't speak for a long moment.
Then he turned back to Cassandra. "One last time. I ask with respect. Surrender."
Cassandra didn't move. But her fingers glowed faintly. A subtle shimmer of light coalesced in her palm.
"Does this count as an answer?"
Before anyone could react, she flung a burst of Restorare toward one of the scouts — a healing spell, fast and golden.
The spell struck clean.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened — then, suddenly, the ground where the scout stood shimmered —
— and a Death Mirage bloomed.
Gasps echoed across the Dome of Accord.
"A Death Mirage? From Restorare?!"
Myra, from the commentator booth, was stunned. "Restorare accelerates healing — but if done improperly, it overwhelms the mana flow. Princess Cassandra didn't heal him — "
Elric finished, "She overloaded his mana heart. A critical rupture. That's a tactical kill."
Rion's fists clenched at his sides.
"You leave me no choice." His voice was colder now. "Then I'll accept the death of the commander."
He raised one hand, and with a single word —
"Cast."
His mages moved in unison.
Blades of fire. Arrows of ice. Bursts of lightning. Earthen spikes.
All shot forward, a coordinated barrage that lit up the woods in streaks of elemental fury.
And when the storm passed —
Only smoke.
Only ash.
A single fluttering petal shimmer faded in the wind.
A Death Mirage.
Myra whispered into the mic, "…It's over."
Elric's voice was hushed. "Princess Cassandra… eliminated."
On the large screen above the Dome of Accord, the final tally pulsed into view — numbers drawn in quiet, golden light:
347 – 51
The numbers sat heavy in the air.
The commentators spoke, but their voices were subdued.
"And that… concludes the match."
"Team Rion advances — a staggering score difference… three hundred and forty-seven to fifty-one."
But there was no eruption of cheers. No roaring applause.
A few slow claps started in the back — hesitant, mechanical — then stopped. Hushed murmurs followed, uncertain, uncomfortable.
Too clinical. Too brutal. Too decisive.
"They fought well," Myra finally said. Her voice, quiet and clear, cut through the uneasy air. "The Orlean team knew they couldn't win outright. So they played for time. Stalled the sands. It nearly worked."
Elric added, more solemnly, "It's rare to see that kind of resolve. Even rarer from first-years."
The screen lingered a few seconds longer, before slowly dimming — fading into blackness, leaving only the vast dome and the memory of what just occurred.
Down below, the terrain stopped shifting. The simulated forest flickered, then melted away, replaced by the dull stone of the arena floor.