The Court cleared a dueling circle in the center of the chamber—inscribed with lunar rings and runes that pulsed in time with Elara's heartbeat. She stepped in, blade in hand, breath steady.
"You don't have to do this," Aldric whisper beside her.
"Yes," she said. "I do."
Daevos entered the ring in a cloak of swirling shadow, his blade humming with cursed runes.
"First blood or submission," he said. "Unless you'd prefer to forfeit."
Elara raised her sword. "I prefer victory."
They clashed.
Daevos struck hard and fast—testing her, forcing her to parry instead of advance. His blade was heavier, his reach longer, and his experience centuries deep.
But Elara was faster. Smarter.
She led him into a feint, using the memory of her Hollow self's style—calculated, cold. When Daevos swept wide, she stepped in and slashed his shoulder.
First blood.
He hissed, shadows erupting from his wound.
"Enough," Aldric shouted, stepping forward. "The duel is settled."
Daevos looked at Elara, something dangerous in his eyes. "She bleeds the Old Light," he murmured. "She is more threat than bride."
Elara met his gaze. "Then run before I become more."