Silvester's return did not stir applause.
It did not spark chatter.
It did something far worse.
It unsettled the arena.
The obsidian floor still bore the scars of his passage, thin gleaming seams etched into the surface like afterimages of violence. Even as the sigils began their slow work of restoration, they hesitated around those cuts, as if uncertain whether they were allowed to erase them.
On the Regalon platform, Silvester leaned his sword-arm against his shoulder, grinning, entirely pleased with himself.
"The Sword Sovereign," Big D muttered. "I'm never letting you forget that."
Silvester beamed.
Across the arena, Club Echelon Fang withdrew their remaining fighters without argument. Their leader's jaw was tight, eyes sharp with reassessment. This was not how things were supposed to go. They had expected talent. They had expected growth.
They had not expected redefinition.
The next sigil ignited.
REGALON VS Zenith member
The air shifted instantly.
