The arena remained utterly silent. Every pair of eyes—Layla's sharp violet gaze, Noora's calculating crimson stare, Sasha's wide, disbelieving ones—locked onto Ashen. But what shocked them most wasn't his words.
It was the unshed tears glistening in his shadowed eyes.
"R... you fine?" Layla asked, her usual icy composure cracking for the first time.
[What an actor. You just flipped their perception of you in seconds. And that story—how do you come up with this stuff at the perfect moment?]
Ashen didn't respond immediately. He took a shuddering breath, the kind that comes from dragging up memories buried deep. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw.
'That wasn't just some story.' He clenched his fists, shadows writhing at his feet. 'The burned woman... was my mother.'
A collective gasp ripped through the spectators.
His next words were barely above a whisper, directed at the sky. 'Mom... there's so much I still want to say to you.'
