The outside conditioning arrays of the Grand Colosseum were pushed to their maximum sky load as the Semi-Finals of the National Collegiate Crucible began in Ring 1. Frostholme Academy, the northern frontier champions from Sector 1, had transformed the arena into an artificial ice-slow canyon. Thirty-foot ice castle walls ringed the outer edge, and two heavy-duty blizzard generators mounted beneath the spectator balconies filled the lower bowl with a howling sub-zero vortex that dropped the heat to minus forty degrees.
Overhead, the huge central light-projected display projected the matchup in burning azure letters: SEMI-FINALS // MATCH 01: IRONFANG VANGUARD ACADEMY VERSUS FROSTHOLME ACADEMY.
Arthur Vance stood in the southern combat nook, adjusting the heat seals on his combat duster. His breath plumed in heavy white bursts that froze instantly on his eyelashes. But his fingers were warm and nimble inside his stygian-lined handling gloves. Beside him, Toby was monitoring the sky thickness curves on their portable test end-post. Meanwhile, Instructor Valerie checked the ice-cleats on their boots.
“Frostholme’s twin Cryo-Wyverns are mature Silver-Rank apex aerial hunting beasts,” Valerie said, her voice cutting through the howl of the artificial blizzard. “Each beast has a fifteen-meter wingspan, ribbed with diamond-rime ice struts that deflect high-caliber projectiles. Their combat doctrine is high-sky crushing weight: they climb to five thousand feet, generate nearby hail squalls, and dive in a timed together pincer to decapitate the defending tamer with ice-slow frost-lances.”
