Tock.
Zephyr's eyes widened as he hurriedly twisted— Too late.
Camila appeared in front of him mid-spin, her blade sweeping upward in a graceful, fluid arc. It was precise, not lethal—but calculated to disarm. The edge met the scythe's shaft with a sharp crack, and for a heartbeat, their weapons locked.
Then she vanished again, no wind, no trace. Only that ticking echo—like a countdown.
Tick.
Zephyr narrowed his eyes, breath steady now. He'd been caught off guard, but he wasn't helpless. Even though his eyes weren't activated, they were connected to him through his lifeblood, so it enabled him use a watered down version of it's abilities.
He perceives. He adapt. He elevates.
His body perceived and adapted to the rhythm, the interval of sound. Every tock marked a step in her art. If he couldn't see her— then he'd predict her.
His fingers twitched around the Shaft of his scythe, his body tensed as he prepared to react to the sound.
Tock.
