His father planted a sword against the shaking ground and turned back toward Senraki instead of running further.
"This ends when I decide it ends," the older man said, blood dark along his jaw, "not when you chase me across dying stone."
Senraki closed the last of the distance before the ground could shift again beneath either of them.
The formation's outer ring groaned lower with every passing labored breath, a sound like old stone slowly learning to breathe wrong for the first time in its long existence.
'He wants to finish this fast,' Senraki thought, watching the sword rise into a guard built for speed rather than defense, 'before the formation takes the choice away from both of us.'
His father attacked first, a thrust aimed at the wound already opened along Senraki's ribs.
Senraki turned his hip to let the point pass wide, feeling the old ache flare through muscle that had never fully closed.
