The chamber was alive with movement. Spears lunged, shields pressed, robes swirled in phantom winds. Each strike was precise, each motion purposeful. Yet Lira noticed something—they did not seek to kill. Every spear slowed just before piercing. Every shield pressed but did not crush.
"They're testing… not destroying," she breathed.
She centered herself, drawing on the threads of the elements. Fire for warmth, air for speed, water for flow, earth for grounding. Instead of striking back, she moved with the rhythm. When a spear thrust, she bent like water around it. When a shield pressed, she rooted her stance into the ground and let the pressure flow past.
The guardians' hum shifted, deepening. Their movements grew more complex, weaving together in patterns that forced her to adapt quickly. She spun, ducked, leapt, and wove her elements into small bursts—not attacks, but harmonies. A stream of air here to redirect a strike, a pulse of warmth there to soften the press of cold force.
