Crisis

The tension hadn't yet faded from the air when a sharp, deliberate ahem cut through the echoing laughter and murmuring crowd.

Like a blade slicing through fog, the clearing of a throat brought a hush over the amphitheater once more.

Granfire stopped mid-jeer, his exaggerated grin freezing on his face like a painting caught in the rain.

Nolan's forced chuckles stuttered to a halt, his eyes flicking to the source of the sound.

The Chief of the Black Vale Mana Knights, a man as still as a statue and just as imposing, slowly lowered his gloved hand from his chin.

His armor gleamed beneath the skylight, silver lined with dark blue patterns that shimmered like restrained lightning.

"Teacher Granfire," he said, voice low but resonant, like rolling thunder from a distant mountain. "Is what you said true?"

Granfire blinked.

The lighthearted mischief drained from his expression like color from a drying leaf.