---
The stall did not settle after the introduction.
If anything, it grew louder.
Not in sound alone—but in presence.
Heron Saevereth stood there with that same unexplainable grin, one hand resting on his hip, the other tapping lightly against the air as if expecting something invisible to respond.
It didn't.
So he laughed anyway.
"You're both staring too seriously," he said, glancing between Nocth and Imuis. "It makes me feel like I accidentally invented something important."
Imuis folded his arms.
"You haven't."
"That hurts," Heron replied immediately, though his tone suggested the opposite. "Deeply. Emotionally. Irreparably."
Then he straightened.
A flicker of intent crossed his posture.
"Oh well. Guess I'll just have to remind you why I'm the most impressive person in this entire fringe."
He stepped back, rolling his shoulders once.
The air shifted faintly.
From within his attire, something stirred.
Not visible at first—just a slight distortion, like fabric remembering it wasn't entirely fabric.
Then—
It opened.
A small, contained spatial fold formed along the seam of his sleeve. No larger than a palm. It didn't tear reality—it slipped it aside, revealing something tucked within.
A pocket.
But not ordinary.
Not storage.
Something crafted.
"Behold," Saevereth said, gesturing dramatically, "the Veyl-Pouch."
The name lingered oddly well.
Like it had been repeated many times before.
Inside the Veyl-Pouch, faint shapes hovered—compressed, folded constructs waiting to be called.
Saevereth grinned wider.
"I made it myself. Obviously."
Imuis scoffed.
"You nearly blew off your own arm the first time you tried stabilizing it."
"Correction," Heron Saevereth raised a finger, "I almost blew off my arm. Which means I didn't. Which means success."
"That is not how success works."
"It is today."
Their banter slipped into place naturally, like an old routine neither of them bothered to refine anymore.
Heron pointed at Imuis.
"And you—don't even start. You disappeared on me for weeks chasing some dusty family scroll."
Imuis' expression shifted.
Subtly at first.
Then sharply.
His hand moved in a quick, dismissive motion.
"Drop it."
Saevereth leaned in, grin sharpening.
"No, no—let's talk about it. Ancient lineage, hidden legacy, mysterious—"
Imuis snapped his fingers once in front of him.
A sharp, cutting gesture.
Enough to interrupt.
Heron blinked.
Paused.
Then glanced—briefly—at Nocth.
Imuis followed that glance.
And in that fraction of a moment, something unspoken passed between them.
Not tension.
Not fear.
Just… agreement.
Drop it.
Imuis turned slightly.
"Show him what you do," he said flatly.
The shift was clean.
Too clean.
Heron noticed.
But didn't push further.
Instead, he clapped once.
"Right! Demonstration time."
---
They stepped further into the stall.
The inside was wider than it should have been.
Not through illusion—but through arrangement.
Fabric hung in layered sheets across the interior, some scorched at the edges, others half-stitched with glowing thread that pulsed faintly like breathing light.
Tools floated mid-air, occasionally twitching as if remembering unfinished tasks.
Frames of incomplete constructs rested against the walls—some skeletal, some already humming with partial activation.
And everywhere—
Small, contained spatial folds.
Like the Veyl-Pouch.
Embedded into the structure itself.
Holding things that weren't meant to be held normally.
Heron walked ahead, brushing past a hanging strip of fabric that sparked briefly as his hand passed.
"Everything here," he said casually, "is a work in progress."
"That explains the instability," Imuis muttered.
"That explains the genius," Heron corrected.
He stopped in the center.
Then turned.
Without warning—
The Veyl-Pouch flickered.
And from it—
They emerged.
Not extensions.
Not tools.
Not quite constructs either.
They unfolded into existence.
Curved, arc-like frames that aligned behind his back, forming a shifting structure that hovered just off his body.
They did not spin.
They adjusted.
Subtly.
Reactively.
Alive in a way that wasn't mechanical.
Faint rune patterns flickered along their surface.
Four this time.
Incomplete.
Unsteady.
But present.
Heron stretched his arms outward.
"Now these," he said proudly, "are my Aerial Frames."
He turned slightly, letting the light catch them.
"They're not built," he added. "They're… expressed."
Nocth watched closely.
"So you are not an inventor," he said.
Heron froze.
"…What?"
Imuis sighed.
"He means you're not purely mechanical."
Heron frowned.
"I built these."
"Yes," Imuis replied, "but not from materials alone."
He stepped forward slightly.
"Saevereth bloodlines don't create power," he explained. "They resonate with it."
Nocth's gaze remained steady.
Imuis continued.
"There are threads—external forces bound within crafted forms. Weapons. Tools. Arrays. Each one carries its own structure of power."
He gestured toward the Aerial Frames.
"They don't have threads themselves. The constructs do."
Heron tapped one of the hovering arcs.
"They respond to me."
"Because your bloodline carries the mark," Imuis said. "You align with them. Perfectly."
Nocth nodded once.
"…Artificial threads."
Heron tilted his head.
"What do you mean 'oh'?"
"That was not an 'oh,'" Nocth replied.
"It sounded like an 'oh.'"
"It was acknowledgment."
Heron squinted.
Then smirked.
"Alright," he said slowly. "Acknowledgment."
He rolled his shoulders again.
The Aerial Frames shifted slightly, lifting him an inch off the ground.
"Why don't we test that acknowledgment?"
Imuis stepped forward immediately.
"No."
Heron ignored him.
"Come on," he said, pointing at Nocth. "Let's see if your 'oh' can actually do anything."
He tilted his head, grin widening.
"Or are you going to just stand there… acknowledging?"
Imuis raised a hand.
"Knock it off."
Nocth lifted his own hand slightly.
"It is fine."
Imuis looked at him.
"You don't need to—"
"I have not moved enough today."
A pause.
"…Fair."
---
They stepped outside.
The open space behind the stall stretched wider than expected, a cleared area surrounded loosely by drifting scrap and half-built constructs.
Heron moved to one side.
Nocth to the other.
They faced each other.
Imuis stood between them briefly.
Then stepped back.
His expression didn't change much.
But there was a faint shift in his eyes.
A quiet understanding of how this would go.
---
Heron inhaled.
Not deeply.
But rapidly.
Short bursts.
His chest rising in uneven rhythm.
The Aerial Frames behind him flickered.
The runes brightened.
One.
Then two.
Then—
Four.
Each one locking into place with a faint pulse.
He threw his arms outward.
"Let's make this interesting!"
And launched.
---
He didn't jump.
He burst forward.
The Aerial Frames adjusted mid-motion, tilting his body into a forward arc that carried him just above ground level.
Then higher.
Then—
He twisted.
A mid-air rotation that redirected his momentum entirely.
His first strike came from above.
Fast.
Unpredictable.
Nocth reacted—
Late.
The first impact landed against his shoulder.
A second followed immediately.
Then a third.
Light.
But sharp.
Heron laughed mid-motion.
"Too slow!"
Imuis crossed his arms.
"…Not funny."
Nocth stepped back slightly.
Not from force.
From recalibration.
His movements shifted.
Not rushed.
Not panicked.
Just… searching.
He raised his hands.
Positioned them.
Tested a forward step.
A strike followed.
Direct.
Linear.
Heron tilted mid-air.
The blow passed beneath him.
He spun again, coming from the side this time.
Another hit.
Nocth absorbed it.
Adjusted.
Moved forward.
Another strike.
Again—missed.
Heron movement wasn't random.
It was layered.
Angles within angles.
His body never stayed in one line long enough to be read cleanly.
Nocth's strikes continued.
Each one slightly more refined.
Less uncertain.
More aligned.
His stance lowered.
Feet grounding.
Weight shifting with intent instead of reaction.
His breathing steadied.
Then—
Something changed.
---
His next step was cleaner.
His next strike—
Not faster.
But placed.
Heron moved to avoid—
But the timing was different.
The strike connected.
Light.
But real.
To the jaw.
Heron blinked mid-air.
"…Oh?"
He grinned immediately after.
"Oh!"
He adjusted again—
But Nocth moved first this time.
A second strike.
Then a third.
Short.
Controlled.
Each one landing closer to center.
Heron twisted away, laughing.
"Okay—okay, now you're doing something!"
He dove again—
But this time—
Nocth didn't chase.
He waited.
A half-step shift.
A slight turn.
Then—
Interception.
His fist met Heron mid-path.
Not where he was—
Where he would be.
Impact.
Heron head snapped slightly to the side.
"…Hey now," he said, grin still present, though slightly strained. "Don't go getting serious on me."
Nocth's expression didn't change.
"What," he said flatly, "will you withdraw?"
The tone wasn't loud.
But it carried weight.
Heron laughed again.
But this time—
It was sharper.
---
He surged forward again.
Faster.
More erratic.
But Nocth had found rhythm.
His stance adjusted with each movement.
Feet anchoring.
Body aligning.
Strikes no longer searching—
But arriving.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each one landing.
Cleaner than the last.
Heron movements became tighter.
Less free.
More reactive.
Still airborne.
Still unpredictable.
But now—
Pressured.
---
A final exchange.
Heron lunged—
Nocth stepped in.
Closed distance.
And delivered a clean, direct strike.
Center mass.
Enough to break momentum.
Heron dropped.
Landing unevenly.
Sliding a step before stabilizing.
Silence settled.
---
Imuis exhaled softly.
Shaking his head.
"I told you," he said, voice calm but edged with familiarity, "that hard head of yours never listens."
Heron straightened slowly.
Then laughed.
Of course he did.
"…Worth it."