The battlefield had fallen into a strange and oppressive silence, one that pressed down upon the arena like an invisible weight. It was not the silence of exhaustion, nor the quiet that followed the end of a battle. Instead, it was the kind of silence that emerged when a fight had reached its most dangerous and decisive moment.
Every person present could feel it.
Even those who lacked combat experience instinctively understood that what came next would determine everything.
At the center of the arena stood Aether.
He did not move.
His posture remained relaxed, almost deceptively so, as if he were merely observing rather than participating in a life-or-death confrontation. His breathing was slow and controlled, so steady that it seemed unaffected by the intensity of the battle.
Yet his stillness was not passivity.
It was precision.
