The morning of the finals arrived cold and bright over the Grand Arena. The snow that had fallen during the night had stopped, leaving the iron spires glittering with frost, and the sky above Caldmore was a pale, cloudless blue. Inside the arena, every seat was full. The black and gold of Kane colors had consumed the stands, a sea of dark fabric and gold thread that stretched from the front rows to the highest galleries. Banners hung from every railing.
Dorian Hale's voice rolled across the stands, hoarse but electric. "Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, distinguished observers, welcome to the final championship match of the Grand Trials. Two fighters remain. One will be crowned champion. Our first finalist is a man who needs no introduction. Five years undefeated. Pembroke."
