Liora Ashveil hated noble arenas.
Not because they were built for nobles.
That would have been too simple.
She hated them because they made unfairness look clean.
The Spire of Trials had white stone, polished railings, perfect acoustic design, and enough academy law carved into its walls to pretend every duel began with equal footing. It did not show the years one student spent hiring private tutors while another trained behind a blacksmith's shed with a cracked wooden sword. It did not show which healers arrived quickly for noble blood and which commoners learned to wrap their own fingers because medical priority had a price.
White stone made everything look pure.
Liora trusted mud more.
At least mud admitted people had been stepped on.
She drew her practice sword before dawn.
