The air in the sealed arena was thick and suffocating, pressing against Kaal's skin.
Across the platform stood a boy who couldn't have been older than him. Fifteen, perhaps, draped in sleek black robes that seemed to drink in the dim light. A dagger danced between his fingers, spinning with effortless grace, its edge glinting like a serpent's fang.
His hair, black as ink, fell carelessly across his brow, framing eyes so dark they might have been carved from polished onyx. And within those depths flickered something unsettling, a spark of mischief, yes, but beneath it, something colder. Sharper.
Then came the laughter.
It was cheerful, almost playful, yet twisted in a way that sent a shiver down Kaal's spine. The sound didn't fade like normal laughter should. Instead, it clung to the air, echoing unnaturally against the curved stone walls, bouncing back in distorted ripples like a melody from some forgotten nightmare.
