"Is he..." Ryan started to ask, then stopped because finishing the question would make the answer real.
Nyla moved first.
Not running—she didn't have the energy for running anymore—but walking with mechanical determination toward her brother's body. Her twin blades dragged behind her, frost still clinging to them despite the warming temperature as the divine barrier began to fade.
She reached Akhil and knelt beside him, her hands moving to his throat to check for a pulse she already knew wouldn't be there.
Nothing.
No heartbeat. No breathing. No sign of life beyond the warmth that hadn't quite left his body yet.
Nyla's hands trembled as she pulled them away, and for the first time since the tournament began, the cold tactical precision that had defined her cracked completely.
"We killed him," she said quietly. "We actually killed him."
"We killed the Monarch," Marcus corrected, but his voice carried no certainty. "Right? That's what we did. We ended the threat. We won."
