The air itself seemed to acknowledge the shift. The oppressive weight that had pressed on bone and spirit eased just slightly, like the world was exhaling. Dust floated lazily from the arena's cracked ceiling, glinting in the dim light. The blackened spear no longer lashed indiscriminately; it hovered, poised, an extension of the champion's calculating will.
Fenric's silver flames twined around him, a subtle signal of readiness rather than aggression. Laxin's chains hummed softly, tension coiled but measured. Vex's green fire pulsed like a heartbeat, scanning, probing, teasing. They had adapted—not just to survive, but to communicate through battle.
