Lucen stepped into the center of the room.
The floor felt different now. Not just cold, ready. Like something in the concrete remembered fights and still wanted more.
Varik stood opposite him, coat off, sleeves rolled, a long curved blade in one hand. Not oversized. Not ornate. No mana runes on the hilt. Just clean steel. Used.
Lucen eyed it, then muttered, "Didn't know you swung old school."
Varik's grip didn't shift. "Sometimes control beats distance."
Lucen cracked his neck. "You're not giving me range. Got it."
Varik didn't answer.
The fight started without a cue.
Lucen moved first.
A snap of his hand—[Shockweave Bolt]—cast fast and wide. The arc flared across the room, chasing Varik's left side.
The sword moved.
Not fast.
Just right.
One step, one turn of the wrist, and the bolt cracked against the flat of the blade like it had never mattered. Dispersed instantly.
Lucen dropped his stance lower. [Crater Bloom] pulsed under Varik's feet.
He didn't dodge.
