Several hours passed.
The sun had already shifted position in the sky when the final sound echoed through the arena—not of impact, nor of explosion, but of a body hitting the ground with a dry, definitive thud.
Exelia fell on her back.
Her arms spun out to the sides, the sword slipping from her fingers and stopping just inches from her hand. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, the air rushing in irregular bursts, burning her lungs as if each breath were made of glass.
She lay there.
Looking at the sky.
The arcane crystal columns surrounding the arena still pulsed, but now at an erratic rhythm, some cracked, others completely extinguished. The black ground was marked by deep furrows, invisible lines that only existed because Kael had decided they would. There was no ice. There was no fire.
Only absence.
Exelia let out a hoarse laugh, almost a choke.
— Damn it… — she murmured, wiping the sweat from her eyes with her forearm. — You… have too much stamina…
She tried to sit up.
