The knight raised his sword again, its polished surface reflecting the weak light filtering from the street above. This time, she knew, he wouldn't underestimate her.
Shadow's boot scraped across the stone as she adjusted her stance, both hands flexing just slightly at her sides. The dagger in her right hand gleamed faintly, but it was the darkness in her left that mattered — her fingers weaving barely perceptible sigils in the air, each stroke trailing an inky residue that shimmered for a moment before vanishing.
Vos moved first. A flick of his left hand — two glowing glyphs ignited along the vambrace of his armor, flaring gold before embedding themselves in the air between them like invisible plates of force. He charged through his own wards, sword low, not aiming to kill — yet — but to drive.
Shadow sidestepped the first swing, the blade striking the stone wall beside her with a shattering crash. Sparks flew. She ducked and lunged forward, her blade aimed for the side of his neck — but a pulse of light exploded from the glyphs on his chestplate, repelling her mid-thrust like a wall of divine will.
She landed hard, rolled, and slid back on one knee. Her cloak billowed around her, shadow curling at the edges unnaturally. With a hissed breath, she snapped her fingers — the alley dimmed. The flickering torchlight warped, twisted, then snuffed entirely. The knight's blade became the only light in the gloom, its enchantment shedding a cold, unfaltering gleam.
Edwin flinched, crouched behind a broken support beam, barely daring to breathe. He could see their silhouettes now — luminous runes on Vos's armor marking his movements like a constellation in motion, and Shadow's figure almost erased entirely by the darkness she summoned. They were dancing — not fighting. Not the chaos of street brawlers, but the deadly choreography of trained killers with purpose.
And magic.
That… wasn't just strength, Edwin thought, heart pounding. They're using spells. Real ones. Gods above, I didn't think I'd see real magic in my lifetime…
Vos planted his foot. Another glyph unfurled from beneath his boot, etched with geometric precision. A crackling field surged forward, a half-dome of radiant energy expanding outward to trap Shadow. She darted toward the wall and vanished in a smear of black smoke. Her form blinked — reappearing just behind him. She went for his exposed side.
He twisted. Too late. The dagger bit into the layered steel between chestplate and pauldron — not deep, but enough to draw blood.
Vos let out a grunt, stepped away, and released a surge of radiant magic. The glyph on his shoulder detonated in a focused burst, sending a concussive wave behind him. Shadow was thrown back, crashing into the far wall, cloak torn, shoulder dislocated from the way she hit.
She gritted her teeth, popping it back into place with a brutal jerk and a low groan. Sweat beaded on her brow.
He's toying with me, she thought, coughing. Or testing me.
Meanwhile, Edwin's mind was racing. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his hidden knife, though it felt laughable in comparison to the power on display. He watched as Vos advanced again, not rushing — precise. A predator closing in.
Why is he here? Edwin's thoughts churned like a whirlpool. House Velloran's second blade, in the lower slums? My father… he's here because of me.
Shadow lunged again, more desperate this time. She ducked under a wide slash, flicked blood into the air with a whisper of an incantation. The droplets ignited midair into blades of ink and shadow, flinging toward Vos in a spiral pattern.
Vos raised his left arm — a shield glyph flared. The shadow-blades struck and dissipated, but the pressure was building.
The wall to Edwin's right cracked and split from a stray blow, sending a spatter of debris across his face. He wiped it away, blinking, and then saw it — Shadow's left side, open, exposed. The obsidian box was half-visible beneath her torn cloak, clutched tightly in one arm.
The sigil.
Edwin's breath caught.
A second passed.
He stared at it — and time seemed to slow.
I could take it.
Just a quick sprint, a precise grab. She was distracted. Vos had her pinned. He could be gone before either of them registered what happened.
But what if he failed?
What would Vos do? What if Vos wasn't here to protect him, but to watch him ? do they know something about my transmigration.
The knight's sword swung in a radiant arc, cutting toward Shadow's head — she dropped, rolled, came up in a crouch, blade reversed and eyes wild. Blood dripped down her lip.
Edwin rose silently.
One chance.
He took a breath, stepped out from behind the beam — and moved.
He moved.
Low to the ground, quiet as thought. One step. Then another. Each one a betrayal of the trembling in his chest.
Shadow and the knight were locked again, steel on steel, ward against ward. Light flared. Shadow curved into darkness and vanished behind the billowing folds of her cloak — reappearing in a sudden lunge toward Vos's throat.
He parried, gauntlet flaring with another radiant glyph. The blow knocked her off course, but she landed like a feral cat — crouched, ready, eyes burning.
Edwin slid along the wall, barely breathing.
The obsidian box — the sigil — was there. Pressed against Shadow's ribs, her arm weakening, her balance off. Blood marked the stone beneath her.
He was ten steps away.
Nine.
His breath caught as memory clawed its way up through his ribs.
A flicker of a life long gone — his past life — lying in bed with a secondhand copy of Rise of the Inhuman King, dog-eared and cracked, muttering curses at how Edwin Velloran died. A footnote in someone else's tragedy.