King Silmarien finally spoke.
His voice was calm, almost gentle, yet it carried effortlessly across the clearing.
"Well then, brother," he said, eyes settling on Aetherion. "Will you take the sword… and face the human? Or will you turn away?"
The words struck like a gauntlet thrown at Aetherion's feet.
Aetherion snorted.
Without ceremony, he reached out and snatched a sword from the hands of a nearby guard, the steel ringing sharply as it cleared its sheath. In one fluid motion, he vaulted onto the podium, boots landing hard against the wooden platform.
The sound echoed.
At once, several guards hurried forward, gripping the heavy frame of the guillotine and dragging it aside, clearing the space for the duel.
Before anyone could speak, Silmarien raised a single hand.
The guards froze.
