The silence in the ring wasn't new.
He'd felt it before—after battles, after burials, after victories that didn't feel like victories.
But this?
This was something else.
Arcten remained in place, the dull weight of the training sword still gripped in his hand, though his fingers no longer felt the texture of its leather wrap. The feedback dome had long since dissipated, its fading runes leaving the air cold and still. Lucavion's footsteps had vanished minutes ago, swallowed by the stone and dust of the academy corridor.
Yet Arcten hadn't moved.
He stared ahead at the space where the boy had stood, blade pointed at his chest, calm as a frozen lake. Not trembling. Not exhausted. Just... certain.
Too certain.
'The barrier broke. That much is simple.'
His eyes drifted to the floor where the mana imprint still faintly shimmered—cracked lines where the runes had overloaded.
