NICHOLAS
The air was thick with tension. The scent of sweat, metal, and bloodlust clung to the stones of the arena like moss after rain. I sat on the obsidian throne, a carved monstrosity meant to reflect power, though today it felt more like a cage.
Larissa or Eiravyn, like I loved to call her— stepped into the dueling ring, clad in ceremonial armor not fit for war. Cloth and leather, soft where it should have been steel. Her ever beautiful face was drawn, pale, but her eyes… those emeralds, they burned with something. It was not fear, neither was it defiance. It was resignation, she knew what this was. What I was allowing.
Today’s the day I'm finally going to know if she’s truly who I thought she was or if she's someone who the moon goddess has decided to use and play tricks on me aga
