The earth swayed as Auren pushed himself upright from the ground.
His jaw throbbed. Blood trickled from his nose, warm against the cold air,he coughed blood a few times and then spit. Elven Varn didn't press—he simply waited, standing in the grass like nothing short of death could move him.
"So my powers don't work on you, Then how about I show you something else" Auren cracked his neck and knuckles then said "Time for round two".
Auren rose to a crouch. His boots found grip again.
Then he struck.
One step. Two.
This time, he didn't go for finesse. He went for impact.
A straight drive—elbow to ribs. Varn grunted, shifting. Auren spun into a hook—fist slamming into his jaw. The knight reeled.
Auren stepped in, landed another—a brutal palm to the side of the head.
For a breath, Elven buckled.
But only for a breath.
The knight growled low and shoved forward, arm snapping up and across. Auren barely blocked, the blow rattling through his arms. His body screamed for air.
Serai hadn't moved.
Not yet.
But something in her chest snapped tight.
The thread between her and Auren vibrated—like heat trapped under skin. Her vision blurred, not from fear, but from the pressure of something rising within her.
A feeling. Ancient. Sharp. Hers.
He stood between her and the cold. No one ever had.
The burn flooded her lungs.
Then she moved.
Wazir watched, his smile widening—softly, almost reverently.
Serai surged forward—faster than anyone expected.
Elven turned—too late.
She slammed her shoulder into his ribs, blade in hand, driving low. The knight twisted—but her strike still carved through his side, tearing cloth and drawing blood.
He stumbled.
His face twisted in pain.
Then Auren was on him again.
Together now.
Serai feinted high. Auren dropped low. The rhythm wasn't perfect—it wasn't polished.
But it worked.
Auren swept a kick. Serai pressed from behind.
Elven had to give ground.
He parried one strike. Dodged the next. But now he was reading two stories at once, and one of them wasn't his.
They moved like mirrored instincts—Serai's fury flaring, Auren's control sharpening.
Blade to gauntlet. Fist to armor. Noise and blood and breath.
Still, Elven endured.
But he was bleeding now. Breathing hard.
And his footwork wasn't flawless anymore.