The roar of the crowd washed over Drizt like a wave, pressing against him from all sides. His vision narrowed, the faces blurring into a sea of shadows and torchlight. The weight of their expectations pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.
And then Drizt's gaze found his father. For a moment, the roar of the crowd faded into a dull murmur. Casil's face was a mask of practiced neutrality, but Drizt knew him too well. He saw the faint tremor in his father's jaw, the way his fingers pressed just a little too tightly against his crossed arms. He wasn't just watching—he was hoping. And that hope was heavier than any blade. 'He's never looked at me like that before,' Drizt thought. 'Like I'm something worth betting on.'
