Aiden blinked, and the air itself seemed torn. A ripple of presence, a shimmer of intent—one heartbeat she was distant, the next she was near enough to taste the iron of her breath.
His body reacted before his mind did: steel rasped free, his sword lifted, and then.
Tang!
The clash shook him to marrow. The weight of her blow thundered through his wrists, into his bones, rattling his teeth.
The vibrations lamented his grip, mocking his weakness. His heels scraped stone as he staggered back—five steps before he even knew he'd moved.
"Flora…" he forced out between clenched teeth, raising his voice as if words could deflect steel. "Talking about it would be suffice, than using sword."
The plea wavered. He wanted it to sound steady, reasoned, but his chest betrayed him. His heart hammered too fast, the rhythm uneven—like a drum beaten by a drunk soldier.
