He noted the conjured shield — thickened by reflex rather than pre-planning — and the way Elias rolled weight through his heels to stay standing.
"Versatility under pressure," Silas concluded softly.
"A valuable data point."
The faint hum of his shard vibrated through the floor beneath him, a low, curious note, as Silas's mind raced to map out the variables faster than the combatants could move.
To him, every slip, every counter, every flicker of exhaustion in their frames was another piece of a puzzle.
Another lever to pull.
Another thread to cut when the time came.
Vincent stood near the edge of his platform, arms folded loosely across his chest.
At his side, Nosey — his Ikona — crouched low, sinewy muscles bunched under its dark coat, sharp eyes gleaming with restless energy.
Vincent's smirk curved wider as he watched the clash unfold below, the golden pulses of Kikaru's strikes flashing across his irises like sparks catching on stone.
He didn't shift his weight.
