Toren's foot caught on nothing.
With a startled yelp, he stumbled backward, arms flailing, and crashed into a shallow basin of mana-charged runoff.
Blue and gold tendrils sparked across his drenched robes, the enchantment-reactive fabric clinging wetly to his pudgy frame.
Steam hissed as the mana crackled, and his smoldering hem sent up tiny curls of smoke.
"Damn arena infrastructure!" Toren spat, scrambling to his feet, his face red with humiliation.
He swatted at his robes, the sparks stinging his hands, and limped away, muttering curses about shoddy maintenance and bad luck.
The other faculty stifled chuckles, turning back to the arena.
Toren's "accidents" were becoming a running joke, though no one dared say it aloud.
Silvia's shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, and she turned to Lor.
Her lips curved into a soft, fleeting smile—not the flustered, clumsy one she wore so often, but one of quiet gratitude.
