The arena was already blood-soaked from earlier matches, the crescent moon casting a silver sheen over the packed training grounds. A mix of nobles, warriors, and curious attendants had gathered under the darkening sky, eyes gleaming with the thrill of competition.
The annual Moon Duels were the one sanctioned event where rank meant nothing — only strength, strategy, and savagery mattered.
I stood at the edge of the ring, heart still pounding from the last bout. Luke had already bested his opponent earlier in the evening, and I expected him to retreat and enjoy the rest of the festivities. But when Wren stepped into the center of the dueling grounds — all elegance and coiled danger — and called out his name, everything inside me stilled.
"Luke of the southern guard," Wren said coolly, voice slicing through the murmur of the crowd. "I challenge you."
