The Tournament Grounds had returned to their mundane form, yet nothing felt normal anymore. The grass beneath Reed's feet seemed brittle, as if the very earth rejected him after what had transpired. Guards flanked him on both sides—not escorts but wardens, their eyes never leaving his form, hands resting on sword hilts. The crowd that had once cheered now parted with fearful whispers, nobles covering their mouths as if the mere air he breathed might carry contamination.
Reed glanced back at Shia, who walked ten paces behind, surrounded by a tighter formation of guards. Her skin still pulsed with faint violet light beneath the surface, like veins of unholy ore running through pale marble. Her eyes, once amber, now swirled with inky darkness that occasionally coalesced into pinpricks of void-light. She moved mechanically, the guards keeping their distance as though she were a diseased thing.
