The tendrils came for Ty as soon as he turned from the door.
They were faster now, but not wilder. That was the problem. Wild things wasted motion. These did not. They crossed the broken floor in lanes, closing the easy paths first and leaving him the ugly ones, so Ty stepped into the nearest bad path before it closed too.
The old stance found his feet before his head named it. Stone stance. Flame guard. Something taken from the first planet and kept in his bones long after the body changed. His knees bent. His weight sank. The blade stayed low, close enough that a weak hand could still use it.
One tendril cut across his chest. He turned sideways and let the edge of his coat take the scrape. Another came for his ankle. He stamped down on the narrow strip of stone under him and slashed through the root where it pulled back toward the center. Green fluid ran through the cut.
