The deafening boom reverberated through the ring, silencing the crowd instantly. Gasps and whispers hung in the air like ghosts, their voices unable to break the tension.

Emma stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes squeezed shut. She braced herself for the impact of the stray sword she had seen moments ago, its deadly arc racing toward her. But no pain came, only a strange, ringing silence, followed by a metallic clatter.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes.

The sword’s tip hovered mere inches from her face, caught mid-flight. Blood trickled down the blade, dripping rhythmically onto the stony floor. A hand gripped the weapon’s edge tightly, its skin torn and crimson-streaked from the razor-sharp metal. Emma’s gaze followed the hand upward, trembling with disbelief as her eyes locked on the person who had stopped the blade.

“Mom?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Vivian stood before her, her elegant figure blocking Emma from the chaos of the ring. Her pristine glasses hung loosely in her other hand, and her stark white eyes shone with a quiet but lethal intensity. She didn’t glance at Emma, her entire focus fixed on the fighters in the ring.

Vivian tightened her grip on the blade, her fingers crushing the steel with an audible crack. The weapon shattered into a thousand shards, the pieces scattering harmlessly to the ground. A collective gasp rose from the crowd, the sound raw with astonishment and fear.

The ring fell into an eerie stillness. Even the fighters froze, their breaths caught in their throats as they turned toward the source of the disruption.

Then it began.

A suffocating pressure filled the air, heavy and oppressive, like a storm bearing down on the arena. The spectators clutched at their chests, struggling to breathe as the atmosphere turned thick with Vivian’s unbridled bloodlust.

Emma’s knees felt weak, her mind racing as she tried to reconcile the image of her serene, gentle mother with the figure standing before her now. This was not the same woman who had shared quiet meals and bedtime stories. This was someone—something—else entirely.

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Vivian’s presence was overwhelming, her aura suffusing the space like an unstoppable tide. The ground trembled beneath her feet, fine cracks forming in the ground as if the earth itself recoiled from her power.

Around them, the crowd fell to their knees, gasping and clawing at their throats. Even the fighters in the ring, who moments ago had exuded raw confidence, now seemed small and fragile, their weapons lowered in trembling hands.

Emma stood unaffected, shielded from the suffocating aura by some unseen force. But she could feel it all the same, a terrible weight pressing against her soul. Is this really my mother? she wondered, her heart sinking under the realization of just how much she didn’t know about the woman who had raised her.

Just as suddenly as it began, the pressure lifted.

The crowd staggered to their feet, breaths rasping and desperate. The fighters exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier bravado replaced with sheer terror. The ring, which moments ago had been alive with cheers and combat, now lay in stunned silence.

Vivian’s face remained unreadable as she slid her glasses back onto her nose, concealing the fierce light of her eyes. Without a word, she reached out, taking Emma’s hand in a firm but gentle grasp. Her voice was calm, almost too calm, as she spoke. “Let’s go.”

Emma nodded wordlessly, her throat too tight to form a response.

The two of them walked away from the arena, their footsteps echoing in the hushed stillness. The crowd parted instinctively, unwilling to meet Vivian’s gaze or question her departure.

As they moved through the shadowed alleyways of Wellington, Emma’s mind raced with guilt and fear. She glanced up at her mother’s face, searching for any trace of anger or disappointment. Vivian’s expression gave nothing away, her gaze fixed forward as if the world around her no longer existed.

By the time they reached the main street, the vibrant bustle of the town had resumed, oblivious to the events in the ring. Emma remained quiet, shame clawing at her chest. She had disobeyed her mother’s instructions, and now the consequences weighed heavily on her shoulders.

They arrived at the carriage, where the driver waited with a cheerful wave. The contrast between his lighthearted demeanor and the tension in the air was almost jarring. Vivian helped Emma into the carriage without a word before stepping inside herself.

As the carriage jolted into motion, Emma stared out the window, her reflection distorted by the glass. The events of the past hour replayed in her mind, each detail more vivid and haunting than the last.

Her mother’s silence was a sharp reminder of her mistake, and Emma’s chest tightened with regret. She wanted to apologize, to explain herself, but the words refused to come.

The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels filled the void between them as they continued their journey. Ahead lay the unknown lands of Eldo-Clearoth, a kingdom Emma now realized she was woefully unprepared for. Yet as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light over the rolling hills, she resolved to face whatever awaited her.

The journey to Eldo-Clearoth had begun.