Ardyn Renhart was not just a combatant. He was a pedigree made flesh. Every movement bore the polish of someone raised to believe that victory was the natural conclusion of his presence.
What the audience now witnessed was, at least on paper, a match that already had its ending decided.
And yet, Ruvian smiled confidently.
It was a small thing, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
But inside, his resolve tightened.
Ruvian's eyes drifted to Noelle first, and in the half-second of eye contact they shared, he caught the soft, almost imperceptible nod she gave.
He shifted his attention to Griffer next, who answered with a faint roll of his shoulders, the shifting of his weight from one foot to the other betraying the tension winding through him.
All three of them shared the same hope: none of them wanted to be the first to hit the ground.
Their stance barely resembled a formation, a broken triangle at best, stitched together by shared necessity.
'Alright. Here we go.'
