Tomorrow
Anthony woke the next morning in his room, the soft light of the sun casting a golden glow across his face.
His eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, as he slowly sat up, groggy but calm.
Rising from the bed, he made his way to the shower, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of sleep.
After dressing and neatly arranging his hair, Anthony prepared for the day with quiet precision.
Yet, as he moved through the motions, his thoughts drifted to the bloodbath that had concluded just the day before.
The memory lingered, vivid and unshakable, a reminder of the battle that had earned him victory and a title he has yet to comprehend.
The victory was won, and yet, a peculiar emptiness gnawed at him.
Victory in the contest had come as effortlessly as a breath.
He had fought, but he had not struggled.
There had been no deep, personal sacrifice, no desperate attempts to survive.