Lucavion let the silence stretch.
Then he took one slow breath, and with that same unreadable calm, continued, "That guy carried you."
His voice didn't rise.
It lowered.
Sharper. Icy now—not cruel in tone, but in truth.
"But did he really do something to help you?"
He pointed upward—at the broken sky, still trembling with ambient magic, where wisps of mana displays shimmered faintly across the dome. Distant pulses marked eliminations. Dozens more vanishing every few minutes.
"You all made it into this safe zone," he said, gesturing lazily with the blade of his estoc. "That's nice. Clean. Predictable."
Then his gaze sharpened.
"But outside—? Candidates are still bleeding. Still falling. Some of them were stronger than you. Some were smarter. And they're gone."
He turned, slowly, walking back across the edge of the scorched stone and stopping mid-circle—right in the crater's shadow.
And then he said it.
Simple. Unforgiving.
"What's the difference between you and them?"
