Klaus lowered his hand from the cut on his cheek, golden blood still gleaming on his fingertips. The admission of defeat felt strange on his tongue—not bitter, but oddly liberating.
"I said I'd only use physical abilities," Klaus explained, meeting Nicholas's indifferent stare. "But I ended up channeling arcane energy at the end. My loss."
Nicholas nodded once, accepting the concession without celebration or false modesty. His expression remained neutral, as if the outcome had been inevitable rather than surprising. He made no effort to claim victory or downplay Klaus's abilities.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by settling dust from their clash. Klaus found himself studying Nicholas with new appreciation. The younger man had just demonstrated mastery that exceeded anything Klaus had expected from someone his age, yet he showed no signs of exhaustion or strain.
