The high-frequency ring from Vane's last strike still seemed to vibrate in the bronze pipes of the hall. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and singed stone, a testament to the fact that two Elites had just spent the last three hours trying to dismantle each other's logic.
Vane stood in the center of the mat, his spear held loosely at his side. His breathing was heavy, and his dark training leathers were damp with sweat, but his eyes were clear. The silver sparks that had been dancing around his shoulders were finally settling, retreating back into his marrow. He felt lighter, as if the pressurized fluid of his mana had finally found a rhythm it liked.
Valerica was sitting on the floor a few paces away, her legs splayed out and her head tilted back. Her golden [Starfire Aura] had flickered out, leaving only the faint, fading heat of her presence. She looked up at the quartz dome, watching the amber light of the afternoon shift into a bruised purple.
