We regrouped. Deya wiped her mouth. Amir leaned on his sniper. Nel coiled her whip. I stood still—barely breathing without wincing.
I stepped forward, voice hoarse but steady.
"Next."
A few scattered murmurs from the crowd. Even the announcer hesitated this time.
A visiting clan leader whispered, "Is he serious?"
One of the Glasswind judges sat up straighter. Juno tilted her head, amused. "That's either pride or madness."
The announcer stepped up again. "Team One has requested a third exhibition—"
"Denied," an elder voice rang out, clear and sharp.
One of the Breaker Clan elders stood. A wiry woman with deep lines around her eyes. "They've proven themselves. For the new young master. Enough blood on the sand for today."
I clenched my fists. "We didn't come here to almost prove anything."
"You came to support your friend," she replied, voice hardening. "You've done more than enough. Stand down."
I was about to argue—when a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"If you're still hungry for a fight…"
The entire arena turned.
Zena Fortune.
My mother.
She rose from her seat like a storm standing up.
"…then I'll be your opponent."
And then—
Pressure.
Crushing. Unfiltered. Royal.
Like essence wasn't just in the air—it was the air.
Some in the stands gasped. Others reached for weapons instinctively, reacting before their minds caught up. One of the weaker elders staggered back, eyes wide.
Nel froze mid-coil.
Deya's dagger clinked against the ground.
Amir took a sharp breath, hand tightening around his sniper's grip.
Even I felt my knees twitch.
Muhammad—arms crossed, watching from his perch among the visiting leaders—let out a low laugh.
"Now Im sure you remember," he said, tone light but eyes sharp. "Why she's still recognized as the most powerful woman alive. Zena Fortune. The Disaster Queen."
Then he leapt down from the terrace, coat flaring.
Not to stop her.
To join her.
Muhammad activated his domain.
Opposing. Grounded. Measured.
Not on us—but beside hers.
Where hers drowned the world, his pressed up against it. Like tectonic plates waiting to slide.
"You asked for more," he said, eyes twinkling. "Well—let's see if you can handle more."
Nel was barely standing.
Amir braced.
Deya was frozen.
And me?
I couldn't move.
I didn't want to.
The only reason I hadn't crumpled yet was the part of me that refused to give her the satisfaction.
And then—
Another figure stepped between them.
No essence.
No noise.
Just a man.
Ronan Break.
Leader of the Breaker Clan.
He walked calmly, like the pressure didn't touch him—though I knew better.
He stood between Zena and Muhammad, back straight, face unreadable.
"Enough."
The word cut cleaner than any domain.
Both domains faded.
Zena's fury sank back into her shadow.
Muhammad's calm unwrapped itself from the edges of the arena.
The air returned.
And everyone started breathing again.
Ronan turned his gaze to me. To us.
"Rest, Team One," he said, voice like stone. "Your point has been made."