As you stand over your defeated opponent and the red mist of combat fades, you finally become conscious of the crowd. Everyone is cheering, and some are even throwing gems into the arena at your feet. You hold your katana up to the sky proudly, only making them erupt in greater roars and whistles. As you make your way out, Phylla greets you, doting over every cut and scrape, as maternal as always. You smile and let her do her thing. The usual guards don’t seem to be around, but you suppose they’re lurking just out of sight.

“You’re the most amazing champion I’ve ever met,” the girl says. “I mean, not that I’ve met many; you’re actually the first. Er, the first I’ve ever talked to...” She seems to stumble around the words - you’re not sure if she’s just shy or if she’s unused to speaking; both, maybe. Clearly she doesn’t have a chance to talk with outsiders often.

Gingerly, you raise a finger and put it to her lips, shushing her, then flash her a wink and a grin. She blushes slightly and returns the smile. There’s no time for more than that, as two guards arrive; one to reclaim her and the other - your rust-wielding guide - to escort you out.