Dawn thinned the night into a soft gray as the training grounds of the Minamoto Clan filled up. Unlike with the Death Clan, here, the sky is original, and so the light was quite dim as it was in the real world.
Hundreds of people pressed close: clan elders, young warriors, clansmen, even a scattering of Minamoto girls who had spent the night whispering about the previous evening and now watched with wide, excited eyes and fully ready in their new attire, despite such time.
At the center of the ring, under a pale slice of sky, Azzy stood with his hands in his pockets like he was waiting for a carriage.
Across from him, Fujiwara Aya tightened the straps on her black armor, every muscle coiled. The guard on her hip glinted; the katana at her back hummed.
Shuichi stepped into the middle, the referee's face a mask of authority but with a tremor around the eyes that betrayed how high the stakes felt. He raised his voice, and it carried clean over the murmurs. "Ready?"
