The air buzzed.
I looked up, and the sky itself darkened.
Arkas floated high above us, both arms raised toward the churning clouds. The calm in his posture was a lie, the moment he reached the sky, he began pouring power outward, calling the storm.
Thunder rumbled, deep and heavy, shaking the walls of the compound. The wind picked up, whipping at our cloaks and hair.
Above him, the clouds grew thick and black, turning the sun into a lost memory. Sparks danced across the sky like fireflies made of lightning.
This wasn't a warning.
It was a declaration.
I could feel it, he was about to attack with everything he had. He didn't come here to fight fair.
Brutus, the lead Grandmaster from the Holts, floated opposite him. His expression shifted from annoyance to disbelief, then finally to alarm.
"Arkas!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the base. "Have you lost your mind?! Have you gone senile in old age."
Arkas didn't respond.
