[Grand Arena of Sunfire—Continuation]
The drums did not slow.
They thickened.
Each strike landed heavier than the last—deep, war-bellied thunder that rolled across the stone tiers and climbed into the ribs of every soul present. The air itself seemed to brace, taut as a drawn bowstring.
Levin's gaze narrowed.
Naburash and Captain Varash followed the line of his sight—down past the blazing dais, past the gilded banners snapping in the heated wind—until their eyes caught on the same figure.
A man among the spectators.
Hooded.
Still.
All three settled upon the same figure. Naburash's breath slipped before his caution could stop it.
"A… red knight?" he murmured, disbelief roughening his voice.
He turned sharply to Varash, "Captain—did you order one of ours to take position there? As a watcher?"
Varash's jaw tightened. He shook his head once, "No, to place a spy within the arena requires the Malik's seal. I gave no such command."
