Cruzer chuckled at their banter, letting the tension melt from his shoulders. He had to admit—he liked this. The ease. The rhythm. The way they clicked not only in combat, but outside of it too. Maybe that was what the judges were really looking for: not just coordination, but cohesion. Chemistry.
"Alright," he said, voice low but confident, "let's walk it off. There'll be another match or a debrief soon."
The group began to stroll toward the shade of the outer courtyard walls, skirting the next team's warm-up without interfering. The sunlight filtering through the high archways caught in Kiera's silver braid and the glint of Arlen's spear, while Jean's untamed energy bounced with every step like she was still mid-fight. Elara, by contrast, walked with quiet poise—always attuned, always watching.
"So," Jean said, breaking the quiet as she kicked a loose pebble across the flagstones, "any of you catch who we were up against? I swear one of them was from the Iron Hawks."
