The sound of the crowd, the movement of the air, even the restless shuffling of bodies in the coliseum, all of it came to a standstill. The world froze as though caught between heartbeats. Dust hung unmoving in the air, fireflies of mana suspended like stars in a still night.
Only two individuals remained capable of motion.
Ibarin, Grand Magus and principal of Central Academy.
And the white-haired figure standing across from him.
"What is this?" Ibarin muttered, his voice sharp with unease. He raised a hand and waved it experimentally through the frozen air. His fingers carved through particles of dust, scattering them like water, yet nothing beyond his immediate reach responded. The air itself was locked, unyielding.
The Grand Magus narrowed his eyes. His mind was quick, honed by decades of experience. The stillness of the crowd, the frozen movement of the arena, it was obvious.
