Aira could barely stomach anything else after that. Her hands trembled as she reached for her spoon, barely able to guide the small scoops of food to her mouth. Each bite tasted like ash—flavorless, empty, forced.
Zyren's words echoed in her mind, sharp and cold.
"It's happening sooner than expected. You need to be ready."
There had been no emotion in his voice, no hesitation or warmth. Just a flat finality that chilled her more than any winter breeze. He wasn't just warning her—he was preparing her for something inevitable. For the tournament!
The hall buzzed with the quiet murmur of others finishing their meals, but for Aira, the world had shrunk to the trembling weight of her spoon and the memory of Zyren's voice.
