Selaphiel's eyes widened in shock. Lugh's did the same. So did everyone else's.
A familiar blood-red glow had begun to seep outward from the floor—right from the point where Lyra's sword had impaled the stone.
It bled into the surroundings, racing like wildfire along the many jagged grooves carved into the arena. And then it clicked.
She hadn't just been flailing wildly earlier.
Each lashing movement of her hair, every stray strike that had seemed too random to mean anything—all of it had been deliberate.
Every shallow laceration, every seemingly incidental blemish gouged into the stone, had been intentionally placed. And now, with the crimson light fully outlining her work, the result was unmistakable.
It was a rune.
A full-scale spell array—sprawled across the floor beneath their feet.
Lugh blinked slowly, a quiet tension climbing his back as a presence brushed against his senses.
