[Tournament—Continuation]
'If there were no law—if a single wrong gaze towards a Malika, did not doom an entire bloodline—I would have ended him there.'
The thought burned sharp and brief in Levin as he watched Rakkhane descend the dais, the crowd swallowing him whole. His fingers tightened and...
SNAP!!!
The rose snapped, and petals fell soundlessly at his feet.
"Did something happen, Malika?" Naburash asked, alarm threading his voice.
Levin exhaled once, slow and measured, as he replied, "Nothing."
A lie, smooth as polished stone. Before Naburash could press further, the Herald's voice rose—booming, ceremonial, and impossible to ignore.
"AND NOW—THE NEXT CONTEST OF THE DAY!" The arena answered with thunder. "ENTERING THE FIELD—MALIK ZERAMET KARASH!"
The roar was immediate. Deafening. Stone vibrated beneath the weight of it.
"And his opponent—HIGH MAGE ARKHAZUNN ASHKARIN!"
