Rory steps up to the fighter's ring, the sounds of adoring fairies echoing in the gardens. Freya shakes her head as a confident grin spreads across his face. Of course he's enjoying this. She's only seen a fraction of his power, flickers of burning flames here and there, but never in its entirety. The curiosity in her watches eagerly, while the smug part, the unrelenting one, roots for his opponent.
His opponent steps in, less boldly than his previous matches, but still as a force to be reckoned with. The lanky Fae, slim but powerful, so much so that he wiped out the last rounds of fighters in mere minutes. He's shorter than Rory, his cool silvery hair and indigo tunic matching his style of magic. A manipulation of water, turning it to ice. One pierce of the ice shard sharper than cut gl
