The stadium thundered with energy.
Crowds surged to their feet as the largest screen flickered—grainy for only a heartbeat—before sharpening into focus.
The camera locked onto a figure cloaked in shadow, standing alone beneath the silver-washed trees.
Asli. The Duskborn.
From the treeline, another presence began to emerge—slow, deliberate. The air around them seemed to tighten, the moment stretched taut with anticipation.
A beat of silence.
Then—
Eruption.
"OHHHHHHH!"
The crowd howled in unison, a tidal wave of voices crashing against the stadium walls.
"That's it! That's a confrontation! Finally!"
"You think he'll use that shadow trick again?"
"He's been too quiet—it's always the quiet ones!"
"Ten silver on the blondie to beat him!"
"You're crazy—twenty on the Duskborn. He hasn't even tried yet."
Bets flew like wildfire. Enchanted coins spun into floating glyph-ledger tables, while glowing holograms danced above each participant's name—mapping live odds, pulsing with every cheer, every heartbeat.
And above it all…
High above the chaos, past the roaring masses and open balconies, the Seven Great Families watched in silence from their private booths. Draped in ancestral silks and guarded tradition, they sat still and sharp-eyed, unmoved by the crowd's frenzy.
At the center—
The King of Arcanis leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Even seated, he loomed. His presence stretched the air itself, commanding silence where none had been asked.
Midnight and pearl robes pooled around his form, embroidered with celestial threads that shimmered like trapped starlight. Silver hair flowed in perfect, straight lines past his shoulders—sleek, untouched by age or weather.
His face was hidden behind an intricately carved silver half-mask, filigreed with crescent arcs, divine constellations, and veins of starlight etched into precious metal.
One gloved hand rested against his cheek.
Unmoving.
Unsmiling.
Watching—not with excitement, not with concern—
But with the still, quiet interest of a man who had already foreseen every possible outcome.
His gaze lingered on the screen, where shadow met steel beneath a silver sky.
And still, he said nothing.
Only a single thought stirred—quiet, inevitable.
His gaze lingered on the screen, where shadow met steel beneath a silver sky.
And still, he said nothing.
Only a single thought stirred—quiet, inevitable.
'Seven will bleed for one. One will fall for all.'