Ashen smirks again when he realizes this fight might not necessarily involve fists, claws, and all-out brutality.
There's something deeper at play, and that understanding shifts his posture slightly. The gleam in his eye sharpens, not with arrogance, but awareness.
Across from him, Lucas steadies himself, planting his feet harder into the ground like anchoring himself might suppress the rising doubt.
Anger flushes his face in waves, visible in the twitch of his brow and the clench of his jaw. He looks like he can't believe he nearly faltered, nearly gave in to a boy.
With a furious growl, Lucas lunges again, reckless this time, carried not by strategy but pure rage.
Ashen watches him with the patience of someone who already sees through the chaos. "What is this fight really about?" he asks, voice unhurried, slicing into the air with clarity. "Fists? Claws? Or the power that truly leads people?"
He doesn't move. Just stands there, a calm force in the storm of dust and fury.
