"I am doomed." Victoria said as she paced the length of the tent, her footsteps uneven and hurried. The energy from Freya's victory lingered in the air, amplifying the sense of competition that gnawed at her chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of the tournament had turned into chains, binding her in indecision.
Katherine watched her, arms crossed and leaning casually against the tent's frame. Her golden-brown hair glowed faintly in the soft light, framing her calm expression. Beside her, Gwenivere sat quietly, her emerald gaze fixed on the ground. It wasn't unusual for Gwenivere to be so silent—but her typical sharp commentary had vanished, replaced by a heavy stillness.
"Are you alright, Gwenivere?" Katherine asked softly, breaking the silence.
