Aramith's brow furrowed, but Mozrael squeezed his hand once more. "Aris will be fine. Trust me."
He followed her gaze. Aris, who was bloodied and barely steady, was still sitting at the edge of the arena. Refusing treatment and refusing to leave. His bruised face twisted with both fear and stubbornness as he clenched his fists.
"Aramith…" Aris croaked, "don't… don't let him walk away." He knew for sure Aramith was stronger than Sylas. When they chose to run away from the wolves back then, Aramith got rid of them when he appeared. It was a selfish request, but he desperately wanted Sylas to pay.
Aramith nodded once.
Sylas smirked as the boy approached, arms crossed loosely. His earth-brown eyes gleamed with arrogance, his stance relaxed. The arena seemed to tilt in his favor as whispers rippled:
"He'll crush him."
"Aramith doesn't stand a chance."
"Bet he won't last a minute."