"I'm pleased. I had worried you might lose your nerve and flee."
Jorghan stepped into the arena proper, feeling the sand shift beneath his feet. This was different from the training grounds—deeper sand, less stable footing, more treacherous. Intentional, undoubtedly.
"I don't run from my commitments," Jorghan replied, keeping his voice level.
"Commitments." El'ran smiled, cold and terrible.
"Is that what you call the lie you and Sarhita constructed? Tell me, half-blood, did you truly think I would believe you'd completed a mating bond in mere days?"
"Does it matter what you believe?" Jorghan countered.
"The challenge has been issued and accepted. Everything else is just words."
"True enough," El'ran acknowledged. He drew his weapon—a curved blade that seemed to be forged from a single piece of metal that shifted colors in the light, red to gold to amber. "Then let us move past words to the more honest language of combat."
