The yard no longer sounded like a training ground. The ringing of steel had faded minutes ago. The spectators lining the stone wall had stopped talking. Even the wind felt reluctant to move through the open space.
Only breathing remained.
Two men stood in the center of the ring.
Lucan and Damien.
Dust clung to them both. Damien's poison had left thin burning lines across Lucan's ribs and arms, the toxin eating shallow trails through bronze skin that still refused to fall. Damien's jaw had already begun swelling where Lucan's elbow had landed earlier in the exchange. Both men stood close enough now that the duel had become personal rather than performative.
This was no longer a demonstration it had turned feral.
Damien moved without warning. His poisoned hand snapped toward Lucan's throat with the speed of a striking viper, toxin glimmering faintly across his fingers. The smell of it carried sharply through the air.
Lucan vanished the strike cut empty air.
