He stepped onto the field slow.
Measured.
Each step kissed the stone just light enough to not seem arrogant, but strong enough to leave a faint mark. A presence like a coiled storm pretending to be calm. The crowd didn't know him. But they could feel it. Something ancient. Something not from here.
He didn't wear anything flashy—just a dark coat, worn leather boots, gloves that hid the burns, and a quiet smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
Inside, he was calculating.
Every movement Lucian had made in the last four fights. Every bit of mana that leaked from the boy's skin. Every time he shifted his weight. How he didn't blink when others flinched. How he sat, watched, and moved like the world already played on repeat in his head.
That's the anomaly.
He didn't need a scan to see it now.
He could taste it in the air. The mana wasn't wild or pure. It was layered. Refined. Polished through experience no one this young should have.
