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... when he said it. He did not point. He did not mock. The words left him softly, almost like a thought that slipped out by accident. Yet to him, they carried weight.

The blood he had spat earlier trembled on the ground. Thin dark stains between cracks in the arena floor. Slowly, carefully, it lifted. Just a little. Not enough to draw attention. Not enough to look unnatural. It was subtle, like steam rising from warm stone.

To Zylus, it was clear. To everyone else, it was nothing. < ...

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