Futility

A flash of golden light lit the center of the arena like a sunburst.

Vess materialized within it—her form unraveling from spiraling vines and radiant roots, landing on the stone platform in a low, defensive crouch. The impact was soft, but the air shifted with her arrival.

The moment she appeared, the stadium exploded with a thunderclap of approval—of awe.

A rolling wave of cheers, stomps, and roars swept across the coliseum in an instant, making the stone beneath her tremble with the weight of thousands of voices crying her name.

They had seen the Tranagian fight before.

The Woodborn Witch.The forest's rage given shape.The nightmare that had dismantled her Anima opponent like a spider patiently draining a fly.