The arena did not release them.
Instead, the silence that followed the giant's fall deepened—so deep it felt wrong, unnatural. The glow of the trial markings shifted from a steady pulse to a spiraling pattern, as though the walls themselves were thinking. Then the air thickened, not with dust or heat, but with weight. A pressure that pressed down on soul and bone alike.
Fenric's eyes sharpened. His silver flames flickered erratically, like they were being tugged by invisible strings. "No… this isn't just the arena. Something older is here."
Aria's green fire curled around her, protective, wary. "Older—and watching. The giant wasn't the judgment. It was the invitation."
Laxin barked a laugh, though there was no mirth in it. His chains slithered over his arms like restless serpents. "Good. Let whoever sits on that damned throne come down and see what we've made."
