The golden pillar still shimmered behind him, steam rising from the cracked stone in slow, hissing spirals. Seran stood in its light, chest heaving, his blade trembling slightly—not from weakness.
But from impact.
From the weight of what had just happened.
He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand, golden aura still flickering violently around him.
But his eyes—once wild with anger—were now focused.
Watching Lucavion.
Watching the man who had been thrown back, whose shoulder had been pierced, whose ribs were bruised and battered—
And yet…
He stood there like it meant nothing.
Lucavion rolled his shoulder once, the black fire around his blade humming low, pulsing like a heartbeat. His gaze hadn't changed. Not softened. Not even hardened.
Still calm.
Still so damn sure.
And suddenly—Seran understood.
He felt it.
Not from the pressure of their clash, not from instinct alone.
But from experience.
