—CLANG!
Another clean deflection. Elayne twisted her wrist and slid back, not with urgency, but with control—every motion measured to the breath. The crescent blade spun once in her hand before settling.
Lucavion didn't pursue.
He held position at the center of the ring, estoc lowered slightly, its black flame still whispering faintly along the edge like a cat curling against its master's hand.
The morning had grown warmer, but neither of them sweated.
They weren't dancing.
They were speaking.
Lucavion's smirk widened just a touch.
"See?" he said, stepping lightly across the ring with no more noise than a breeze. "Isn't this much better?"
He feinted left, then withdrew the motion before it could land—just enough to test her stance, to let her adjust, to see how she'd react.
She didn't.
But he noticed the pause.
"All those questions you wanted to ask…" Lucavion continued, voice smooth, easy, "doesn't this answer them?"
Elayne didn't respond immediately.
