The silence in the Colosseum of Embers was absolute. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Larcade stared down at Josip's crumpled form, his expression unreadable. The faint, ghostly remnants of the Toxic Smog dissipated from around Josip's head, revealing a face pale as death, yet still breathing—ragged, shallow, but alive.
Larcade shook his head slowly. There was no triumph in the gesture, only a quiet, weary acknowledgement.
"I envy the Earth Dragon Bloodline," he murmured, his voice barely audible, meant only for himself and the unconscious man at his feet. "Because that should have killed you."
He meant it. The Toxic Smog of Despair was designed to be a killing spell. It had never failed before. The fact that Josip was still breathing, still clinging to life, was a testament to the raw, primal vitality of his bloodline. It was a level of natural defence that Larcade, a non-Trueblooded Brander Clan sorcerer, could only dream of possessing.
