A hush rolled over the arena so thoroughly that even the ever-roaring magma lines beneath the stone seemed to pause—to listen.
The dwarven spectators, who normally brimmed with rough laughter and booming cheers, now sat still as carved statues. Wide chests rose and fell slowly, thick fingers curled around stone railings, beards swayed faintly in the furnace-warm breeze. Not a soul spoke.
Only the human side broke the silence—
click—flash—click—click—CLICK—flash—
Magical cameras glimmered like fireflies trapped in crystal jars, each spark of light reflecting off polished armor, jeweled hairpins, and eager eyes.
The reporters leaned forward so far over their stands it looked like they might topple in.
"Another elder challenge—!"
"Capture that moment—yes, yes, from the right angle!"
"Is that… the Fairemoore girl? Count Fairmore's lineage?"
Their excitement was feverish.
Almost hungry.
In contrast, the dwarves whispered with deep, grumbling disapproval—gravel scraping gravel.
