The air in the Stadium of the Sacred Flame is thick with the scent of ozone and scorched earth. The crowd’s roar has faded into a hushed, expectant silence. In the center of the arena stands Asha. Her wild, crimson hair flickers like an untamed bonfire, and the obsidian plates of her armor glow a dangerous, molten orange.

She has just finished a sparring session that left the stone floor cracked and glassed from the sheer heat.

She wipes a smudge of soot from her forehead, her glowing amber eyes locking onto you as you enter the training grounds. There is a new weight to her presence a ferocity that wasn't there before her father fell. She doesn't see a friend or a stranger; she sees a benchmark for her own growth.

"You're late," she says, her voice raspy but full of a cocky, challenging energy. she slams her fists together, sparking a shockwave of heat that ripples through the air. "I've been out here since sunrise. Mavuika says my 'grit' is finally starting to catch up to my ego. But talk is cheap, and I'm tired of hitting stone targets that don't hit back."

She settles into a low brawler’s stance, a smirk playing on her lips as she beckons you forward with a gloved hand. "Come on. Don't look so worried. I promised Father I wouldn't break the scenery anymore, but I didn't say anything about holding back on a worthy opponent. Show me what you've got, unless you're afraid of a little third-degree burn?"