The arena felt different.
Not quieter. Not calmer.
Denser.
Heat still rolled in suffocating waves from the magma channels. The thousand hammers still hung above like a judgment that had not been rescinded—only delayed between strikes. The air trembled with stored force, every rune along the arena floor glowing as if bracing itself for what came next.
But something had shifted.
Those closest to the arena felt it first—not as hope, not as relief, but as an uncomfortable pressure, like standing too near a deep well whose bottom could no longer be seen.
At the center of it all, Luca stood.
Blood soaked his clothes. Lava steamed where it touched his skin. His body was still damaged—still screaming under every impact—but it was no longer failing forward. It was… adjusting.
Another hammer rose.
And inside Luca's mind, thought cut through pain.
Space.
The word surfaced slowly, deliberately.
My space element…
