The arena did not calm after Skygate's second victory.
It did not settle into the usual rhythm of anticipation followed by spectacle, nor did it return to the predictable pulse of competition that had defined the earlier stages of the tournament. Instead, something more subtle, more pervasive, and far more dangerous began to take root within the vast expanse of the Imperial Championship Arena.
It changed.
The noise remained, of course. The crowds still roared with enthusiasm, their voices echoing across the towering stone walls in waves that rose and fell like a restless ocean. The excitement persisted as well, carried forward by the relentless momentum of the National Championship, where every match held the promise of glory or collapse. Celebrations continued in scattered pockets—teams reveling in victory, supporters chanting names, banners waving proudly in the heated air.
But beneath all of that—
Something else spread.
