Iryndra [1]

It felt as though some divine entity had descended upon the underground colosseum.

Not a single soul dared to speak.

The weight in the air was suffocating, as if gravity itself had tripled. The torches lining the walls flared wildly, their flames twisting unnaturally.

Then, all eyes turned toward the ice throne where Azriel had once sat.

Next to it stood a little girl.

She was striking—her skin pale as snow, her jet-black hair mirrored the darkest of places in the colosseum. Her eyes, twin orbs of gold, burned like miniature suns. She seemed impossibly fragile, her small hand held tightly by a tall man beside her.

The man had ash-brown hair and stormy grey eyes, his presence so commanding yet overshadowed.

Almost no one in the colosseum spared him a second glance.

Almost all attention remained on the little girl.