Click.
The sound was small.
In the big, open arena, it should not have carried at all. But against the sudden, heavy silence that followed my grip tightening, that single metallic sound of my sword moving from its cover rang out like thunder.
The blade did not leave the cover completely — just two inches of dark steel catching the bright stadium lights.
It was enough.
The air pressure dropped at once, a heavy, warping weight rolling off my core in visible waves.
My right hand stayed locked around the handle, the leather binding to my palm as my bloodline pulsed inside my veins, pulling raw power from the air and spinning it into sharp, wild arcs of black lightning that hissed against the sand around my boots.
The students right in front of me froze. The strong, organized front they had just spent the last two minutes building simply broke before I even took a step.
