The saint of Clan Varran stood firm, his gaze shifting toward the darkening sky. The air was thick with the scent of rain, but this wasn't any ordinary storm. His eyes narrowed as the first few droplets fell, the storm building ominously above the arena. He had lived a long life as a warrior and had faced countless threats, but the moment the rain began to fall, he knew something was wrong.
The man standing before him, the one with white hair, exuded a calm, almost casual energy, but the storm building around him was anything but. As the rain intensified, the saint's eyes locked on Canna, his instincts flaring. And then, in a flash of blinding light, a bolt of lightning struck Canna directly, the sound so loud and sudden that the entire arena erupted in shocked screams.
