The hush that fell over the arena was deafening. Every heartbeat seemed to echo louder than the storm, every breath held in anticipation.
Zeuxis dragged his battered body across the drenched stones, fingers clawing toward the hilt of his fallen sword as though salvation waited at its steel edge. His pride, sharper than any blade, drove him forward.
Kael’s back was turned, his shoulders heaving with the weight of restraint. The Hakana swirled more violently now, no longer calm, but restless—hungering.
Sparks of light darted around him like agitated fireflies, whispering with a language no mortal was meant to hear. The crowd’s whispers rose into a crescendo of fear and awe.
“Pick it up then,” Kael said, his voice low, broken between exhaustion and that unnatural distortion. “But rememb
