Shock was an emotion the crowd believed they had grown used to. Yet none of them could help but gawk at the scene before them: a broken patriarch on his knees, and standing defiantly in front of him—his prodigious daughter, Lyra Cross.
High above, in an exclusive viewing platform draped with enchantments and private wards, Selaphiel watched with cold, narrowed eyes.
"She's going to win,"
She said flatly.
"Wait,"
Came the calm reply from Zhou, seated beside her.
There was a third figure in the balcony—Jahira, whose mere presence acted as the smoothening balm between the two opposing elves.
"Wait?"
Selaphiel echoed, clearly puzzled.
Zhou's gaze never left the arena floor.
"He's the patriarch for a reason."
Down in the stands, Lirienne spoke under her breath.
"That's a lot of blood."
Sela responded grimly,
"That's too much blood."
