"As we decided, the consequences of this match are obvious," Father Prince declared, his voice carrying over the training grounds.
But the place was silent.
No cheers, no whispers—just the stunned breathing of students who didn't know what to make of what they had witnessed. Sylas—the untouchable, the one who strutted as though the academy belonged to him—was broken on the ground. Aramith stood unscathed, calm, almost detached, as though this outcome had been inevitable from the beginning.
The silence dragged until Aramith moved, walking steadily toward Mozrael's side. His steps echoed in the stillness. The moment he reached her, a sound split the quiet.
Clap.
Every head turned.
Mozrael blinked in shock when she saw who it was. "Sylvia?"
