The air outside the arena was charged—not with cheers or excitement from a historic moment—but with silence, suspicion, and tension sharp enough to cut steel.
A place that should have been filled with spectators was empty. The arena, surrounded by black walls and obsidian spikes, loomed like a tomb waiting to be sealed.
And in front of it—two guards.
Only, they weren't just guards.
Something was off; everyone could tell when they were stopped.
"Stop," one of them had said, trying to sound firm, but his voice betrayed his nerves.
"What do you mean by this?" Clara stepped forward, her voice cool, her eyes colder.
The guard flinched, his mouth trembling as his training clashed with sheer instinct—his instinct that screamed run when faced with the Vaise blood.
Jessy's aura had already flared.
