"We… win," Caspian muttered slowly.
He staggered out of the arena, every inch of his body screaming in silent protest. His vision pulsed with static, like his brain couldn't decide whether to stay awake or shut down.
Blood still trickled from the corner of his lip, trailing down his neck.
The last feral charge had pushed him past his limit—far past.
The world was spinning.
But still, he walked.
Then—
He saw—
Lyrius.
Standing near a quiet corner, leaning against the railing.
Cursing at the air, at himself, at someone unseen.
His voice cracked through the wind—sharp, bitter, venom-laced.
Caspian squinted.
There was no victory in Lyrius' face.
No relief. Just… humiliation.
He wasn't talking to anyone.
He was talking to himself.
Caspian opened his mouth to call out.
But then—
"Ding!
A notification came.
---
QUALIFIED TEAMS:
— TEAM ONLOOKER
— TEAM Z
---
"We qualified…" Caspian whispered, lips curling into a weak, tired smile.
And then everything went black.
