Calista stood at the center of the arena, wrapped in silence and anticipation. Her body trembled, every muscle burning with raw fire. Wounds covered her from head to toe — bruises blossomed across her ribs, deep cuts marred her thigh and shoulder, and torn skin on her hands oozed fresh blood. A deep dent remained in her chest — the mark of Renald's last strike. The skin there was bruised, twisted unnaturally, and every breath pulsed with molten pain. Her internal Qi fluctuated unevenly, still struggling to return to full harmony.
And yet, she did not waver. She stood tall, as if her spine were forged from iron, not from bone and battered flesh. Her arms were raised, gaze steady — not a flicker of doubt. Even as the wind tugged at the shredded edges of her ruined dress, she didn't budge an inch. It wasn't her body holding her up — it was her will.
She allowed herself a single glance — fleeting, barely noticeable. Toward Veynessa. Their eyes met.
