The aftermath was quiet in the way only devastation could be.
I sat on a pile of broken glass that had once been my reflection, shards stacked and fused together in a vague, human-shaped slump at my feet.
The pieces still glimmered faintly, catching the light in fractured angles, like a body made of failed mirrors. Some of them were warm. Others were cold enough to sting through my clothes. None of them moved.
I breathed.
Slow.
Deep.
Controlled.
My chest rose and fell like I had to remind it how.
The colosseum around me was ruined beyond recognition. The sand had vitrified into blackened glass in wide swaths. The stands were half collapsed.
The air still shimmered with leftover heat, bending light into ripples that made the world feel unreal. Smoke drifted lazily upward, carrying the faint scent of ozone and scorched stone.
I won.
Not because I was stronger.
Not because I had more power.
I won because I changed.
