The body crumpled. I paused long enough to grab the blade at his belt.
Closer.Closer. The scent of night, fresh air. Just a few more turns.
Just—
Shouts. Boots.
The clang of weapons drawn.
Shit. We’d been seen.
A burst of movement from the end of the corridor. A guard rounding the corner. Another behind him.More coming.
We ran.
Straight toward them.
I twisted in time to meet the first guard head-on.
He swung. I ducked. My blade caught him under the ribs, tearing through flesh. He gasped, his body jerking against mine as I yanked the knife free.
Shaelith sidestepped the second guard, her blade flashing. She parried—twisted—the male stumbled, and she slashed through his hamstring. He crumpled with a guttural cry, clutching his leg as blood pooled beneath him.
Brynelle was already sprinting.
Fast. Too fast for them to stop her, but if she could get outside?—
If one of us made it?—
A wall of black-armoured Nyxarian warriors appeared ahead.
Brynelle skidded to a stop. Sword up. Teeth bared. Shaelith turned on her heel, blade raised, but the corridor was closing in. Guards poured from every direction.
We were surrounded. But we didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.
We turned on them. Blades, fury, blood.
I drove my dagger into the throat of one soldier, twisting hard, the cartilage giving with a wet snap beneath my grip. I yanked it free, pivoting to block another strike.
Shaelith and Brynelle caught my eye as I moved.
They didn’t fight side by side.
They moved asone.
Not just in sync—interwoven.
A storm with two minds. A purpose shared like breath.
Shaelith struck first. Her blade carved through the air in a vicious arc that caught a Nyxarian warrior across the throat. Blood sprayed hot and bright, painting the stone walls in crimson. She didn’t pause, didn’t even register the kill—just spun, her white hair whipping like a banner as she dropped low, sweeping the legs out from under another.
Brynelle was already there.
Already moving before Shaelith’s target hit the ground. Her stolen blade drove into the fallen warrior’s chest, the wet crunch of breaking ribs audible even over the chaos. She yanked it free, twisting to block a blow that would have taken Shaelith’s head off from behind.
They didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
