The Traditional Medicine Association's grand hall stood before me, its imposing marble columns and ornate oak doors designed to intimidate outsiders. I pushed through with Elder Foster at my side, his weathered face tight with anticipation. Inside, doctors and medical practitioners milled about in expensive robes, their conversations dropping to whispers as we entered.
"Look who finally decided to show up," a voice called out.
Desmond Davenport stood at the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of elders who parted like a curtain to reveal his smug face. His expensive silk robes rustled as he approached us, each step deliberate and measured.
"Liam Knight," he announced loudly, making sure everyone could hear. "Come to waste everyone's time?"
I met his gaze evenly. "Actually, I'm here to compete in the finals."
My statement hung in the air for a moment before laughter erupted around the room. Desmond's face broke into a condescending smile.
