The Fifth Bell had fallen silent.
Not fully—but enough. The chatter, the clinking utensils, even the enchanted instruments in the corner had quieted to background whispers. The projection hovering above the hearth had captured every eye in the room.
And every soul was watching Reynald Vale lose.
Valeria sat motionless in her booth, fingers tight around her cooling cup. Her eyes didn't blink. Her breath came slower than usual, like her body was bracing for something that hadn't landed yet.
On the screen, Lucavion advanced again—slow, surgical. No wasted movement. No flare for drama. Just execution. Every step was measured. Every thrust of his estoc was clean, angled to cut without theatrics. The flames that coiled around him now seemed like an afterthought.
They weren't showpieces.
They were statements.
—CLANG!
