The moment Cyrus touched the ground, the arena dimmed.
A ripple spread from beneath his feet—slow at first, then accelerating, like oil blooming across a still pond. It wasn't just darkness in the literal sense. The stone itself began to lose color, veins of inky magic writhing outward in a jagged network. What had been a bright dueling ring turned somber, quiet, and vast.
Aiden stepped forward, light flaring around his arms as usual. One stride. Two. But by the third, something shifted.
His step didn't land clean.
It dipped.
Just slightly—barely enough to throw him off.
Aiden narrowed his eyes, pivoted, then pushed into another step—but again, the surface beneath his foot felt warped. Not wet. Not rough. Just… thick. The darkness was rising, like mist and pressure, coating the floor in a resistance field that dulled his motion.
His speed, usually absolute, began to lose its edge.
