Belle stood a few meters away, stretching her shoulders with lazy precision. The faint light above glinted off her cyan blade long, narrow, and alive with an icy shimmer that mirrored her aura. She rolled her wrist once, and the sword sang, cutting the air with a low hum.
"Alright," she said, blindfolded face angled toward me. "Now we use blades."
I nodded, then looked toward the corner.
"Sacha," I called.
The white tiger lifted her head instantly, blue eyes glowing faintly in the monochrome light. She padded toward me with unhurried grace, tail flicking side to side like a metronome of arrogance.
"Let's go," I murmured.
Her form began to dissolve fur unraveling into tendrils of soft, glowing mist. The blue vapor curled around my arm, then condensed, reshaping itself until the weight of a blade settled in my palm.
The glass sword gleamed transparent, radiant, alive. Veins of frost shimmered through the blade like flowing rivers, pulsing with her quiet heartbeat.
