As the final echoes of battle died away, the arena remained eerily quiet—no cheers, no chants. Just the shimmering silence left behind by the Echo Spiral.
Leon stood in the center of the Harmonic Crucible, bathed in soft golden light from the broken glyphs around him. Cracks laced the obsidian floor, glimmering with residual energy. His breathing slowed, but his mind was still alight with the rhythm of the battle, every move playing back in his memory like a sacred composition.
Across from him, Vaer'Tahl sat cross-legged, meditating amidst the shattered remnants of his blade.
"You do not understand the weight of what you've done," the Ant warrior said quietly, not in anger, but awe. "To master the Spiral in combat… it took me decades to even hear its whisper. You shaped it. Wielded it."
Leon turned, wiping blood from his cheek. "I didn't wield it," he replied. "I listened."
