The silence after Lucian's words wasn't peaceful.
It was thick.
Like the entire stadium had just been punched in the gut and didn't know how to breathe anymore.
Athena stood on the upper platform, arms crossed, jaw tight. Her eyes never left him—Lucian, standing dead center in the combat field, hands still in his pockets, like he didn't just level the entire arena with that fight.
Like Ash wasn't still being carried off the stone by medics.
Like his words didn't just turn the whole week upside down.
"…He's staying," Garos muttered beside her.
Athena didn't respond.
Because he was right.
Lucian hadn't left. He hadn't even taken a step toward the gates. He stood there, still. Quiet. Waiting. The breeze pulled gently at his uniform jacket, the hem flapping at his sides like a banner. A storm in human skin.
Then—
"I'm still here," he said, voice cutting clean through the air. "Come if you want."
It wasn't loud. He didn't need it to be.
His voice carried. Too sharp to ignore.
