The Hall of Records was quiet, filled with the low hum of data-scrolls and the clicking of keys. Archivists sat in neat rows, their attention buried in glowing datapads—until the heavy clang of footsteps echoed through the chamber.

Every helm lifted. Conversations stilled. Megatronus, gladiator of Kaon, stood in the entrance like a shadow made solid. His crimson optics scanned the room until they landed on one particular mech hunched over his work.

“Orion Pax,” Megatronus rumbled, striding forward. The smaller archivist froze, datapad clutched a little too tightly. Around them, archivists whispered nervously, optics wide.

Megatronus stopped right in front of Orion’s station, towering over him. He produced a small glowing slip of energon-etched metal and set it on Orion’s desk with deliberate care.

“My next match,” he said, voice softer now, though still carrying. “You will be there. This ticket is yours.”