August's senses sharpened as he stepped out of the tent, his mind refracting the battle unfolding ahead like a masterful prism gathering light.
Larcade was in the thick of it, facing an adversary who carried the weighty insignia of the true-blooded Brander clan. As a Pseudo-Sorcerer, this opponent hovered at an echelon of real power that placed Larcade at a dire disadvantage. He could see the flicker of magic illuminating the scene—a flash of light here, a shield of energy there, sending ripples through the very fabric of nature around them. Yet, August felt no anxiety. On the contrary, he was imbued with a remarkable calm, a steadfastness coursing through his veins like liquid steel.
"Your confidence is misplaced, Narmer," he remarked to the still-present weight of the tent behind him.
"You should also enjoy the show and tend to your wounds. Do not bother intervening in a battle between juniors when the time comes. I will not allow you to."
