A stunned silence gripped the arena.
Even the Grand Mage paused longer than usual before announcing it, eyes narrowing with both respect and curiosity. His lips parted slightly, but no words came immediately—only a soft, breathless exhale as he recalibrated the weight of what he had just seen.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
One of the commanders scribbled something hurriedly onto his parchment, ink blotting in his haste.
A noble near the Valen balcony scoffed audibly, muttering to another, "Even the gutter breeds anomalies now."
Others turned their attention to the noble stage, their gazes sharpening—eyes now locked on Lucas, the next heir in line, as if daring him to rise above or fall beneath.
Lucas's breath caught. His mouth was dry.
He felt like he was swallowing stone.
His hands trembled slightly at his sides, and he clenched them into fists to mask it.
