The duel circle pulsed once with white light, then settled into a deep amber glow beneath their feet.
Lucien Ashford stepped forward into the ring, eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed. Not out of arrogance—but focus. His hands hung loosely by his sides, fingers uncurled, shoulders balanced. If he felt pressure, he didn't show it. If he was excited, he kept it buried.
Across from him, Arin Valis moved like a flicker of candlelight. Her footsteps made no sound, but the static in the air thickened with each pace. Her silver-white hair had been pulled into a high braid, strands threaded with filament-thin lightning arcs that danced lazily across her shoulders and down her gloves. She was every bit the prodigy her reputation promised—refined, fluid, dangerous.
They stopped ten paces apart.
The surrounding arena had quieted. A low thrumming hum settled around them as the spell-circle completed its cycle, inscribing the boundary—no escape, no interference.
