Renner's POV*
The Crucible wasn't just a place where men fought.
It was where they were destroyed or made worthy to live.
Where titles bled from tongues and screams were chewed to nothing by stone. Where masks fell. Where the soul screamed so loudly it burned itself hollow.
And on that day—beneath the black sun banners and the cheers of a thousand fools—Ian walked through the bloodgate with nothing on his face but indifference.
Not rage.
Not pride.
Just… stillness.
I remember the way the sand crunched beneath his boots. I remember the hush that fell—not complete silence, but the sharp holding of breath that passed over the crowd like a fever. They knew.
He was fighting today.
The Demon Blade.
The Whisperer of Death.
The one whose bones had snapped and reset in real time. Who rose from disembowelment. Who carved champions like meat and walked away bloodstained and unbothered.
And across from him—Veyne, the Third Fang of House Vallis.
