Sylen turned, his blade still trembling with the hum of cursed energy, breath sharp and shallow from the brutal execution he had just performed. His muscles burned. His blood roared. But his focus remained steady, sharpening to a single point.
He expected motion. Expected fury. Expected Alex to be rushing him—blades raised, eyes blazing, vengeance dripping from every footstep.
Instead, there was… nothing.
No attack.
No sound.
Only silence.
An oppressive, almost sacred stillness, like the world itself was holding its breath. Smoke curled lazily in the distance, dragging through the air like the last exhale of a dying god. The ruins of the arena stood around him, silent witnesses to what had just occurred.
But no, Alex.
No sign of him.
Sylen's heart skipped, then pounded once. Hard. Too hard.
He blinked.
"What...?"
