The world did not roar.
It stilled.
The shock of impact loomed in the air, an echo trapped between ears.
Dust swirled where steel had sang, the arena floor fractured into jagged veins of stone.
Silence.
...For one breathless instant, no one moved.
Not the students.
Not the others in the crowd.
Not those watching far away.
Not the instructors.
Nor even the king upon his throne...
In that haze, two figures stood.
Riven's blade was still held in his grip...his stance rigid.
Unbroken.
Huff huff huff
His chest heaved.
Each breath, sharper than the last.
Deliberate.
And yet...his knees trembled beneath him.
Across stood his opponent.
Jacob Lacura.
tap....tap
He swayed softly side to side. His shoulders rose....and fell in ragged rhythm.
Different titles.
Different status.
It didn't matter...
They both ended this fight the same.
Blood seeped from a dozen cuts, as Jacob's half-lidded eyes burned with something feverish, as he locked onto the boy before him.
Had time frozen?
It appeared so.
They both stood there, the same ghastly expression...
The air howled softly, as if the sight of two caused it to weep.
Huff hu---fff
In that silence, it was then-
Thump
The sound was small.
Almost fragile.
A heartbeat?
No.
It was the sound of a knee...giving way.
Riven's body....
It listed, his sword scraped the ground as he collapsed onto one knee....
Then the other.
Thump
His damp hair obscured his vision, the only thing powering him was his blade.
Mael's Fang.
He had clutched it even as the strength bled from his limbs...
The silence deepened.
The man standing opposite.
Jacob.
Only he remained standing in that arena.
The officials hadn't moved.
Their eyes darted from the collapsed boy...to the one still standing.
It was as if they were waiting....
Waiting for something.
Anything....
Anything that might shift the outcome.
Everyone held their breath.
The students....
Even the nobles, smug and certain before the bout, they'd found themselves caught in the stillness.
Tap....tap
Jacob's feet tapped softly, as his body swayed; chest rising and falling...with ragged gasps.
Blood streaked his jaw.
His hand trembled....but he didn't fall.
And so-
Under the eyes of everyone.
Ayling stepped forward.
He looked around, head turning slowly; the words caught in his throat...before he forced them out, each syllable cutting the atmosphere:
"...Winner..."
The word was substantial.
Did it have to end?
"...Jacob Lacura."
Once the name left his tongue, there was no cheers.
Only an echo of the names weight.
The reactions came in straight away...
No cheers followed.
Some gasped, as whispers ran across the track of surprise...
The silence stretched, flowing naturally like a river...
The nobles above shifted first; smiles twitched onto their lips, though uncertain and soft.
A few clapped, the sounds of which reverberated awkwardly, unfit for the occasion.
In contrast, the common-born students sat frozen...
Some looked at Riven's collapsed form, their throats tight...lumped.
Others glanced at Jacob...
Their faces pale.
Unable to reconcile with what they'd seen.
In that recovery room; Kalen's jaw clenched.
His hands curled, white-knuckled at his side, but upon gazing at Riven's form...it slightly eased.
In that Elite Class platform, the reactions differed as they moved little.
Mira leaned forward, face shocked...
Seris stared, lips pressed thin, as if shock warred with confusion.
Torin only lowered his gaze as though he was weighing something larger than words.
Fayl watched, a twitch of a grin sporting on his face.
He couldn't believe what he'd seen.
Selle was the same.
The others like Aelana and Naeva sat in silence....coming to terms with....whatever that was, it echoed in their hearts all the same...
Caelun's gaze lingered on the trail of blood, calm and unreadable, yet heavy.
As though he'd glimpsed something the others missed.
The teachers exchanged murmurs, tension written into their bodies like they'd been forged from it.
None smiled.
Not one.
Vei Alros's eyes pierced at Riven...there was something in that look?
Familiarity?
King Azarel Elyndor sat above with his daughter and son: Samuel and Saphira.
His expression was unreadable, carved from a sculpture, his gaze fixed not on Jacob...but the 'warrior', lying broken upon stage.
In comparison, his daughter sat, strands of golden hair falling into her vision. Those crimson eyes stared, her lips parting, but no words escaping; only a sharp breath....as her hands trembled...she had seen something she would not forget.
Samuel didn't react.
And finally, Jacob...
Alone he stood tall.
His chest heaved, back covered in dried blood.
There was no arms raised in triumph.
No smile.
This didn't feel like a win.
'....'
His thoughts were absent.
Gaze distant.
'...It's quiet'
It was.
Deathly so...
The medics came.
Swift, precise, their white robes streaking crimson as they lifted the fallen boy.
The crowd watched.
No sound.
They wouldn't forget.
They couldn't.
Because in that silence, the boy who fell echoed louder than the one who stood.