The crowd's energy had changed, palpable as a storm front. Soren felt it as he stepped into the arena for his second match, no longer the chaotic bloodlust that had fueled his bout with Aric, but something more calculated.
More watchful.
A collective intake of breath that seemed to pull the very air from his lungs.
Sand shifted beneath his boots as he approached the center of the ring. The cut on his cheek from the previous match had barely begun to scab, still stinging when he turned his head too quickly.
Every muscle in his body protested the morning's exertion, but he kept his spine straight, aware of how weakness would be noted and exploited.
In the galleries above, nobles leaned forward in their seats, heads tilted together in urgent conversation.
