Darius sat in the stands, his shoulder still aching from earlier. Bandages peeked out beneath the cuff of his sleeve, half-concealed, half-forgotten. He didn't flinch when he moved anymore, but the sting was a quiet reminder.
The ring had been repaired. Again. Smooth, polished stone now gleamed under the protective dome as the next set of names flashed through the air.
"Next match: Aiden Virell vs. Renna Fallor."
He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, watching his friend descend the steps.
No smile. No nerves. No hesitation.
Aiden moved like a man walking into a lecture he'd already memorized.
Darius's eyes narrowed just slightly.
Aiden's not someone you notice at first. Even in class, he's precise, thoughtful. Glyph-focused. A perfect theory mage.
But that's just the surface. That's who he is when he's being polite. When he's holding back.
This—
Darius tilted his chin forward, eyes sharp.
—isn't a class match.
