The Hall didn't announce itself.
There were no signs, no inscriptions, no divine heralds.
Just a gap in the stone corridor like a wound torn sideways into the arena's understructure. No light bled from within. Only heat. Heavy, slow-breathing heat that made Kael's lungs feel like they were trying to drink smoke.
He stepped through.
The door sealed behind him without a sound.
Inside: a circular chamber, silent as bone. The walls were layered with banners—not of nations, but of wars. Ragged, torn, some burned to half-length. Symbols scorched into the stone. Names carved and then struck through. Every inch of the room radiated memory.
Kael's ears buzzed.
The Knife murmured. "War rites. Old ones. Pre-ascension. This place is older than the Draft."
Kael moved forward, careful. His boots echoed.
At the center of the chamber, standing in a circle of dust and blood-iron, was Veyra.
She wasn't cloaked in the veils and divine airs she wore in public. Her armor was raw and crimson—living metal that shifted over her body like muscle. Her left gauntlet was missing a finger. Her eyes burned with steady, bored intensity.
"Scavenger," she said without turning.
"War goddess," Kael replied.
She turned then—fluid, precise, the way someone moves when they've practiced it for centuries. Her hair was tied back with a leather cord, and her right shoulderplate bore a deep dent where something massive had once struck and not quite killed her.
"No title," she said, stepping into the circle. "No crowd. No judgment."
Kael's hand brushed the Knife's hilt. "Just you and me?"
Veyra's smile was thin. "Just questions. And your answers won't be spoken."
She snapped her fingers.
The runes along the edge of the arena flared.
And Kael felt the shift—weightless for a moment, like gravity forgot where it belonged.
The Knife whispered: "Sealed duel. Blood-conduct trial. No spectators. No death ban."
Kael blinked. "No what ban?"
"She can kill you."
Veyra drew her weapon.
It was not a sword. Not exactly.
It was a length of curved steel rib, coated in dried godblood, sharpened to a razor edge. It pulsed like a heartbeat.
She pointed it at him.
"This isn't a test," she said. "It's a conversation."
Kael's hand settled on his blade.
He smiled.
"Then I hope you speak fluent bleeding."