The air in the arena had shifted.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But in a slow, sinking way—like the tension of an entire mountain settling deeper into the earth.
On the high stone platform, the seven dwarven elders watched Lilliane with sharpened eyes, their granite expressions carved into concern rather than excitement. Runes flickered across their armor like small breaths of firelight.
Elder Hilda leaned forward first, braid swaying over her shoulder as her eyes narrowed.
"Hm… that one was close," she muttered, voice low but steady. "But the girl's got a spine. Good mental fortitude."
Several elders nodded in agreement, murmuring in rough, approving grumbles. Even Elder Brokk stroked his beard slowly, a rare sign of respect from the sharp-tongued dwarf.
Only Elder Huldor remained completely still.
He didn't blink.
He didn't shift.
He didn't join the murmuring.
