The two fingers Shaurya held aloft caught the blinding morning light, casting a sharp silhouette against the indigo sky.
High above the dark tiles of the Main Hall, the deep-orange banner snapped violently in the high-altitude wind, its golden Sudarshan Chakra glowing like embers. The silence across the stadium remained absolute—ten thousand spectators frozen in their stone seats, their eyes fixed on the Peacock Feather Throne.
Shaurya's dark coat billowed against the crimson silk behind him. His golden pupils flickered, catching the glare of the rising sun, before his hand smoothly dropped back to the armrest.
On the floating Elders' Platform to his left, Elder Wu stepped forward. His grey robes rustled softly as his boots met the edge of the marble balustrade. He lifted his right hand, pulling his wide sleeve back to reveal a weathered wrist, and flicked his thumb against his index finger.
CLICK!
The sharp, singular sound echoed down through the open sky.
