The leaders of the Four Sacred Clans, who'd been watching from the highest seats, finally reacted.
On the Valerius end, an old man in white-gold robes stood up, his eyes blazing with sacred light. On the Ashbourne end, a dark-armored patriarch leaned forward, the stone beneath his hand cracking silently. On the Ravenhart end, a veiled matriarch's shadow spread across half the platform. On the Evercrest end, several elders rose at the same time, their faces filled with shock and alarm.
One of them shouted, "Max Morgan, what are you doing?"
Another elder's voice followed right after. "Stop!"
Even Angelina Valerius's expression changed.
"Max," she said, her voice sharper than before. "Wait."
But Max didn't wait. His eyes stayed fixed on the statue of the First Progenitor. The starry light around his fist grew brighter. The arena formation trembled, not because it was being destroyed, but because it couldn't understand the nature of the power gathering inside his hand.
