The garden itself joined the fight within the first minute, sun-side flowers snapping shut on ankles that lingered too long, moon-side petals drifting into blinding, silvery clouds wherever a fight strayed too far from the center line.
Almond used the Warlord's own momentum against the terrain twice, letting a wide overhead swing carry him stumbling into a patch of biting sun-blooms that closed around his boot and cost him a full second of balance.
"Careful where you swing," Almond said. "This garden doesn't pick sides."
"Neither do I," the Warlord growled, tearing free, and came at him harder.
Rudra's ground war with the Warden ground on with brutal patience, each tremor of unstable footing chipping another crack into the pale energy wall, until a final, driving strike finally punched clean through it and sent the Warden sprawling.
"Yield," Rudra said, blade steady at his throat.
