Apollo stood alone for a moment, staring at the empty hallway where Amari had just walked off. His fists clenched at his sides.
It wasn't right.
It wasn't fair.
But this tournament didn't care about fair.
He sighed, shook the thought out of his head, and turned toward the arena.
He couldn't carry that weight right now.
He had his own war waiting.
The crowd lit up the moment he stepped onto the platform.
Cheers. Chants. Some still screaming about what happened earlier, but it didn't matter.
Across from him, Freya Calloway walked in, fire already flickering along her shoulders. Focused. Sharp. Ready to burn something.
The two locked eyes.
And then—the bell rang.
Freya didn't waste a second.
She launched forward, no warm-up, no hesitation—just pure heat. Her fists glowed violet, erupting with purple fire as she swung with enough force to crack stone.
Apollo was already moving.
