The moment Kaelred's foot touched the center ring of the arena, the gravity snapped sideways.
His body twisted, feet skidding against stone as his balance was pulled toward a wall. But his instincts flared—he bent low, flipped, and rode the shifting pull as though he'd trained under this kind of pressure all his life.
Elder Arvail watched silently, one hand still lifted. She tilted her head slightly, adjusting the vectors again. This time, gravity bent upward. The floor beneath Kaelred cracked from the sudden shift.
He didn't hesitate.
He ran straight up into the air like it was a vertical road, kicking off invisible footholds formed by the pressure itself. He closed the distance in seconds.
Arvail blinked once, raising a finger. A ripple of dimensional folds lashed toward him.
Kaelred's blade slashed through the distortion.
