Kael turned, adrenaline surging. "Come on, then," he said with a swagger. "Let's finish this."
The Wraithborn hissed low, circling. Kael stepped forward, casually. Too casually.
Senn's eyes, watching from across the square, narrowed.
He's losing the rhythm…
Kael swung. Missed. The Wraithborn ducked under and raked its claws upward.
Pain lanced through Kael's left shoulder.
He cried out, stumbling back, vision blurring. His sword dropped for half a heartbeat.
No…
The Wraithborn turned away.
Not to flee.
To pounce.
A girl stood frozen near the well, eyes wide with terror. She couldn't move.
Kael reached for his sword—but his arm failed him.
And then—
Flash.
Senn appeared between them in an instant. No wasted movement. Just three perfect cuts. One upward. One across. One down.
The Wraithborn vanished in a plume of black smoke.
Silence followed.
Kael sat on the ground, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He looked up at Senn, who was already kneeling beside the girl, gently helping her to her feet.
Kael's mouth felt dry. "I had it…"
"No," Senn said quietly. "You had it. Until you forgot why you were fighting."
Kael looked away, shame twisting in his gut.
"You let victory speak louder than instinct," Senn added. "You forgot the rhythm. You let the high blind you."
The girl clung to Senn's leg. Her eyes, full of trust and fear, met Kael's.
He looked down at the blood on his hand.
"I got three of them," he said, almost defensively.
"And the fourth nearly cost a life," Senn replied, standing. "Learn the lesson, Kael. Or the next time, it will."
Kael sat still as the villagers slowly emerged from hiding.
Three kills.
One mistake.
And the fire in his back now pulsed not with pride, but with warning.