The figure stood still now, watching Aris with a strange posture—calm, steady, but not lifeless.
It no longer felt like some unknowable force.
It felt human.
Aris gritted her teeth. "What's your name?"
The figure's voice was rough. Like someone trying to speak after centuries of silence.
"…Eran."
The name echoed faintly through the air. Not through magic—just a man speaking his name.
Aris adjusted her grip on the baton. "You were Sovereign once, weren't you?"
Eran gave a single nod.
"Long ago. Before the Tower allowed names. Before the Choir made rules."
"And now?"
"I am what they buried. Because I chose to fight without permission."
Aris smirked. "Good. Then we've got something in common."
Eran didn't speak again.
He just charged.
This time, Aris met him head-on.
Their weapons clashed with a brutal clang—no rhythm, no tempo assist. Just raw force. Aris ducked a sweeping elbow, slid under Eran's follow-up strike, and jabbed upward at his ribs.
