Torace lifted one hand, and a translucent golden barrier unfolded outward like overlapping wings, sealing the arena from the rest of the hall. The sound dulled immediately, as if the world outside had been pushed a step farther away.
The young Griffin rolled his shoulders once and exhaled. His arms twisted, bones shifting audibly as fingers elongated into curved claws. Feathers surged up his forearms, layering thick and dense, each plume edged with faint gold. His wings spread partially, not fully unfurled, but wide enough to control balance and momentum.
Steve rested his sword loosely in one hand, lightning flickering along the blade in thin, lazy threads. Shadows clung to his boots and pooled beneath him, stretching and retracting with his breathing.
They looked at each other.
Then the Griffin moved.
He crossed the distance in a blur, claws flashing for Steve's throat. Steve didn't counter immediately. He leaned back just enough for the strike to miss by inches.
