The smoke hadn't completely cleared when a soft clap of applause rang out—calm, measured, painful precisely because it was unhurried.
Rena and I turned together.
A man stepped out of the ash haze: his gray-white coat spotless, his silver hair neatly tied back, a sword at his waist, sheathed but radiating pressure as if already unsheathed. Each step left no trace, as if the ground chose not to touch him.
"Remarkable," he said lightly. "You brought down Darrius and extinguished Garruk's Aegis in one night. If you had been like this before, our 'trial' would have been brief."
Kravius.
His very name was an old wound. The space around me felt tight.
Rena took a half step forward, her two swords raised, though her hands trembled. "One more step, and—"
"I didn't come to draw my sword on a bleeding man," Kravius interrupted. His gaze traced the cut on Rena's shoulder, then returned to my face. "I came to talk. We owe a conversation, don't we?"
