Anthesis of Sadness

Then Ornée raised her hand. Once again. High, firm, implacable. Her voice cut through the air like a well-honed blade, without emphasis, but with that sharpness that leaves no room for doubt:

— Let the battle begin.

Immediately, the gems embedded in Nortris’ flesh blazed with a brutal flash, pulsing with a dark and threatening light, as if his very heart had awakened in his chest to beat to the rhythm of an ancient hatred. His body tensed in a shiver of raw energy, then he charged. In a single movement. Direct. Blinding. He held nothing back. His speed nearly shattered the scenery, a silent scream trailing behind his first strike — a terrible arc, a foretold impact, a shockwave ready to tear the air apart and sweep away all opposing pretension.

But the blow struck nothing.

It hit empty space.

Because I was no longer there.

I hadn’t countered. Hadn’t stepped back. I had vanished. Purely. Simply.

And Ornée, still standing, not even having returned to her seat, declared in a dry voice, almost absent, as if announcing an obvious fact:

— Third match. Winner: Lukaris.

It was as if the world stopped. A heavy, saturated silence swallowed the arena. No cheers, no boos. Just that compact, almost unreal void where even breathing seemed suspended. Then, slowly, a ripple passed through the crowd. A murmur of confusion. A whisper flowing through the stands. And all saw.

I was there.