Clay blinked once, then twice, his expression blank as though the strange word meant nothing to him at all, as though the warmth rising in his chest had never appeared in the first place, and when he finally opened his mouth, his tone carried nothing but confusion.
"What is that?"
On the other side of the crack, the Warchief went silent for a moment, as if measuring whether the boy in front of him was truly ignorant or simply mocking him again, and then his voice came out slower this time, heavier, carrying an ancient pride that felt far older than the battlefield they stood on.
"You do not know…?"
A pause followed, long and tense, before the Warchief continued, his voice echoing with a strange kind of solemn authority.
"Nullgora is the sacred duel of our people."
The air trembled faintly as he spoke.
