"Mom won! Mom won!" Sylphia couldn't stop jumping with excitement, completely oblivious to the tense silence that had engulfed the stands. Her small hands clutched the railing, and her eyes sparkled with delight.
Aldrich raised the corner of his lips in a quiet smile. But something gnawed at him. He looked at the arena again—and his brows froze. Veynessa's sword still stood lodged in the ground. And she herself—arm outstretched forward—hadn't moved a single inch.
One by one, the Elders seated in the box began lowering their gazes. "It's over," Fenthar sighed, his voice laced with resignation.
Yllara, kneeling in the center of the arena, was barely breathing. Her chest rose with effort, every breath sounding like a battle for survival. "I can't remember..." she rasped, spitting blood, "...the last time I had such a damn hard fight."
