The training ground was still buzzing from Braggen's victory, the scent of scorched earth and faint traces of Voidflare energy lingering in the air. Dust hung in the late afternoon light, painting everything in a hazy gold. A loose circle of spectators began to form again.
Ceyla stepped forward, the faint hum of her Storm Affinity curling around her like restless wind. Tiny arcs of electricity licked at her fingertips, the grass at her feet bending as if bowing to an invisible force.
"I've been wanting to fight you since the day you blocked my attack," she said, her voice low but cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.
Kirell tilted her head, the light catching the jagged scar across her forehead. Her silver dagger spun idly in her hand, the edge gleaming with a predatory sharpness. Behind her, motes of pink-white petals began to swirl—the manifestation of her Bloom Affinity—filling the air with a deceptive softness.
