The grand arena stretched endlessly, its towering walls aglow with torches that flickered in the cool evening breeze. By now, the first day of the tournament was history—a blur of adrenaline, triumph, and heartbreak etched into the minds of those who had witnessed it. The arena, which had been alive with roaring crowds and the clash of steel, was now silent save for the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional echo of voices as workers cleared debris.
Aamir lingered in the stands, alone under the starry canopy. Though the day's battles had ended, his thoughts refused to rest. Seenu. The name carved itself into his consciousness like a mantra, relentless and unyielding.
Seenu's fight wasn't flashy, but it had been mesmerizing. The cracked blade, the calm precision, the deliberate rhythm of his attacks—it was all so out of place yet seamlessly perfect. While others had fought with fiery passion or overwhelming force, Seenu had shown restraint, an almost serene confidence.
