The moment Lyra Ashveil stepped onto the platform, the noise died.Not slowly.Not reluctantly.Instantly.It wasn’t fear at least not on the surface. It was recognition. The kind that came from knowing exactly how far below someone you stood.Soren felt it too.Not pressure.Expectation.The kind that weighed heavier than killing intent.Lyra rolled her shoulders once, loosening her arms like this was a morning warm-up rather than a public duel. The faint crackle of mana around her didn’t flare. It didn’t need to. It was contained, disciplined, dense.She wasn’t leaking power.She was holding it back.“So,” she said calmly, eyes locked on Soren, “you’re the civilian.”A few people flinched at the word.Soren tilted his head slightly. “Is that a problem?”Her lips curved not into a smile, but into something assessing. “It is when civilians don’t move like hunters.”The arena’s barrier shimmered as it sealed. Cameras adjusted automatically, drones hovering closer. Somewhere above them,