The light above him blazed like a descending sun as Zion, clad in a fresh combat robe with his family's sigil stitched across the back, walked forward with a casual, proud gait.
Some people screamed like fans at a rock concert. Others stood in solemn respect.
Even the camera drones kept a respectful distance, creating an almost cinematic framing as Zion climbed the stairs, his eyes flicking across the crowd briefly.
He stopped before Reva, who handed him the microphone.
She smiled, voice softer now. "You've fought many battles, Zion. Won many international tournaments. Even world championships. But this one was… personal, wasn't it?" Zion stiffened for a second, thinking that she was referring to the kiss, but then Reva added. "After all, your mother herself is the tournament organizer."
Zion nodded once. "Yes, that's true."
