The air in the arena trembled with each collision of fists and energy. Dust drifted in lazy swirls, disturbed only when shockwaves rippled outward from the two combatants at the center.
After explaining to the others about Solen, Khael let out a slow sigh, shoulders relaxing for the first time in minutes.
Solen stood with one hand resting on his hip, burnt-silver eyes following every movement in the fight below. His crimson cloak swayed gently in the breeze, tattered edges brushing the ground.
"This is interesting," he remarked casually, as if watching a friendly spar rather than a clash of prodigies.
(You are really carefree, Master…) Khael thought, his jaw tightening.
Ceyla crossed her arms, irritation evident. Her gaze never left the fight, but the corner of her mouth twitched in frustration. She still hadn't forgiven Solen for arriving so late.
