The silence shattered.
Thread Light flared. Shadow sharpened.
Every motion between Clara and Sayo carried weight—not just the force of combat, but the weight of memory. The space between them wasn't battlefield, it was reckoning. And in that moment. We all felt it. This was no longer just survival. It was consequence.
Sayo darted forward again, blade carving a wide arc through the pale field. Clara caught it on her forearm—threadlight surged, pushing back—but Sayo pivoted, cutting low. Clara leapt, flipped, landed hard.
The two separated—then crashed together again. Dust rose in waves. The world bent under their speed.
Erich muttered, "They're beyond us."
I said nothing.
Clara was fighting without hesitation. Every movement looked like instinct—guided by something deeper than thought. Not revenge. Not anger.
And Sayo answered it in kind.
They mirrored one another in opposition—like same-kin born from different times.
Clara twisted as Sayo lunged, pushing against the side of the blade with her bare hand. Threadlight shimmered along her skin but didn't burn. Her pulse detonated at the point of contact—force met force, and they both slid away.
Sayo's shadow folded inward as she spun. Clara responded instantly, launching a stream of rapid pulses. Each one clipped air as Sayo darted sideways, twisting through them.
Then—impact.
Sayo clipped Clara's shoulder—just barely. But the sting was sharp. Clara didn't slow. She spun into the strike, catching Sayo with a palm to the chest. The pulse exploded at close range.
The blast knocked both of them apart. They tumbled across the field, sliding in opposite directions.
***
The silence between them vibrated.
Sayo's shadow stirred beneath her feet like something coiled too long. Clara stood, unmoving, a faint pulse shimmering at her fingertips.
Neither stepped forward.
Then—
Clara launched.
No warning, no flare. Just forward motion. She led with a burst of threadlight that erupted behind her like a detonation, closing the gap in an instant.
Sayo was ready.
Their strikes collided. One shadow, one pulse of threadlight. The sound it made wasn't metal—it was grief, cracking open.
Sayo twisted. Clara followed. Their forms spun in perfect counterpoint, circling one another like orbiting moons.
Clara's foot swept low. Sayo jumped. Came down with a vertical cut—Clara leaned sideways, pulse charged in one hand, and slammed it into the air between them.
The detonation rocked both.
Sayo's feet skidded backward-she flipped once mid-air, caught herself, landed in a crouch, and immediately pressed in again.
They were speaking through motion. Every pulse, every strike—memories in impact.
I stood frozen, heart hammering. Erich at my side, still catching his breath from the last exchange.
"I can't tell who's winning," he muttered.
Clara redirected a rising strike with a pulse-laced palm. She turned it into momentum, slamming her shoulder into Sayo's side. Sayo stumbled back—her blade spun, cutting upward, Clara jumped away—too late.
A line of blood painted her coat.
She didn't flinch.
The glow in her eyes intensified.
Sayo's shadow pulsed, her blade reforming mid-spin into a jagged glaive.
She came again.
Another clash.
Another ripple of energy.
Clara's feet lifted from the ground—Sayo's did too. The field beneath them cratered. They moved so fast I could barely follow—light and shadow tracing streaks through the pale field.
Then—
Clara struck.
A concentrated burst from her hand—point blank.
A hit.
Sayo flew back, engulfed in the flare.
Erich stepped forward. "She got her?"
I held my breath.
It took a few seconds until the impact had cleared.
Sayo stood. Unburned. Unaffected. Holding something in her hand. A thread.
I didn't understand it at first.
Then I saw Clara. Frozen.
Her hands had dropped.
Her glow faltered.
"No…" I stepped forward.
Erich grabbed my arm. "What is she doing?"
Sayo's shadow surged—not like a weapon, but a current. It raced up the thread in her hand and poured into Clara's chest.
Clara's eyes flickered—then changed.
From pink to pale. Then hollow.
She blinked once.
Then turned.
Not to us.
To stand beside Sayo.
My stomach sank.
"What did she do?" Erich asked again, quieter this time.
Sayo didn't move. Clara didn't speak.
The two of them stood side by side—perfectly mirrored. The shadow at their feet rippled together.
Clara raised her hands.
Sayo gripped her sword.
Then they lunged forward.
***
Erich blinked to the side, barely avoiding Clara's blast.
I rewound, repositioned. Sayo's sword cut through where I'd stood.
The rhythm was different now.
We weren't dodging one. But two.
Clara's pulse struck the ground between us, sending us both flying.
Sayo followed it with a spinning strike, driving me back.
I hit the ground hard.
Erich caught me. "This is hell."
He was right, in that moment, I thought, this is the end.
Erich glanced between them. "This isn't a fight anymore. It's a slaughter."
He raised his arms.
Sayo charged him.
I shouted, "Erich—"
He ducked under her blade, rolled, and looked up just as Clara stepped beside Sayo, hands glowing.
He turned to me, grin bitter. "Kind of unfair, don't you think?"
Sayo stopped.
She turned her head slightly.
Then slowly—wordlessly—formed two weapons in her hands.
She held them out.
And tossed one toward Erich.
The other to me.
The blades landed slightly at our feet.
Thread-formed. Shadow-infused. Equal to hers.
Erich paused, then said slowly, "I'm done holding back."
I nodded. "We have to break their connection."
We picked the blades up.
The fight wasn't fair.
But now, at least, we had a chance.
Sayo stepped forward.
Clara raised her hand again.
Erich and I fell into a stance—improvised, imperfect.
But ready.
The next blow wouldn't be defensive.