The magical training grounds of the witches' royal castle awoke like a huge beast sensing the scent of combat. The runes etched into the floor—sinuous lines of blue and purple mana—pulsed lazily, but each pulse seemed more alert, more distinct, as the air filled with the heat and tension of the clash that was about to begin.
Kael took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he rolled his shoulders, feeling every muscle protest. Fighting the two of them had become routine, but something was different today. The way Amelia warmed her hands, letting her fingertips gleam with microscopic ice crystals. Irelia's posture—impeccable, silent, centered—her hand firmly on the sword's hilt, as if she could unleash a storm with just a raise of her arm.
They were taking it seriously.
He would have to, too.
"Ready?" Amelia asked, her voice soft but laden with a cold confidence that seemed to glide through the air.
Kael smiled slightly. "You should be asking yourselves that…"
