The master of silver arena stood at the highest level of the building, his figure draped in a luxurious black robe intricately etched with silver threads. His black, impassive eyes peered down at the arena through the slits of his dull golden mask. The mask, unique yet untraditional in design, covered only the upper half of his face. Aorned with swirling, abstract patterns that seemed to dance in the dim light, it accentuated the cold, calculated gaze of the man who wore it.
"Now, for the pièce de résistance," the master of the arena declared with nostalgia. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a massive screen into existence, that suspended mid-air abive the arena. The screen illuminated, capturing the moment Orion had seized Akazar by the collar, frozen in time just before the tyrant's tragic demise.