The air was no longer charged with battle.
Instead, it carried something heavier—expectation and anticipation from everyone around.
Above the colosseum, the sky remained a dull gray-purple, still pulsing faintly with the remains of the collapsed arena's mana field. The floating rankings shimmered overhead like judgment etched into the heavens, cycling slowly through names, numbers, and affiliations.
In the center of the ring, two figures stood side by side.
Damon Terrace.
Kaelis Dorne.
He has been victorious.
While she was defeated.
Behind them, the arena was still. Hundreds of students, spectators, nobles, and guardians held their breath. Not because the duel had ended, but because the consequences of it hadn't.
Dean Oryll descended slowly from the platform above, his robes drifting like smoke as he hovered to a stop before the two top-ranked combatants.
"Now," he said, voice calm, but edged with ceremonial gravity, "comes the burden of power."
