Kyle's supporters, dressed in the deep crimson and black of his clan, rose to their feet, voices rising in a tidal wave of cheers. The sound reverberated through the coliseum, shaking the enchanted banners above, and even sending a ripple of excitement across distant stands.
Each shout of their prince's name carried conviction, pride, and unwavering loyalty. In their eyes, the lack of a declared victory mattered little; his display of skill, precision, and unwavering composure had already etched his strength into memory. Fingers clenched around railing, voices hoarse from shouting, they celebrated as if the arena itself had bowed to his performance.
Dan exhaled slowly, a low breath that seemed to release both energy and tension. His arms fell to his sides, yet his posture remained sharp, every muscle taut with readiness.
