At that, Eryndor's fingers dipped, almost lazy.

And the Netherbreed answered like a falling tower. Heat scythed forward; breath went white-hot and straight; plates locked as if they were the jaws of a trap closing.

The ridge held its breath.

Fog pulled apart in long, pale scrolls as the Netherbreed's roar rolled through the stone and pressed at their ribs.

Fire popped in shallow bowls where old oil had found the air; each flare lit the world like a shutter click—motion, freeze, motion again—until even the shadows seemed to change their minds.

A leaf let go of a branch above them, drifted through the hotter layer of air, and crisped to ash before it could touch the ground.

The Netherbreed slammed four claws at once.

Boon!

Concentric rings shivered out from the impact, skittering gravel and bowing weeds.

Bennet braced and still slid, boots carving commas in the grit. Heat walked over him in waves; his breath came back tasting like struck copper.

"It's coming again," he barked, cutting a short line to hold space.

The Netherbreed didn't feint. It arrived—sudden, tidal.

A foreclaw skimmed his guard and struck his thigh through leather. Warmth spilled down his boot.

Kieran angled to split the pressure and the vice‑commander stepped into him with clean, merciless geometry.

Metal touched twice; Kieran's cheek opened under the third touch as if a quill had drawn a red stroke there.

"Correction," the vice said mildly, not even winded, "Keep your chin behind your work."

Kieran laughed once, short, "Send me the lesson plan."

He cut for tendon and found only the flat of that crimson blade, humming like a caged hornet.

And behind them, Eryndor did not hurry. He spoke as if giving directions to a servant, "Now. Right shoulder."

The beast obeyed. A hook of bone scissored over Bennet's shield and raked the top of his arm.

Mail held; skin did not. His fingers went numb for half a second, just long enough for Eryndor's pommel to find the notch above his heart and thump.

"Breathe later," the commander advised, voice quiet as a room with the doors shut.

Bennet swallowed the dark around the edges of his sight and drove his sword low, trying to buy space with weight. Claws screeched off his edge; sparks ran blue along the bevel and guttered.

"This is frustrating..." he spoke out, his eyes sparking with annoyance and seriousness.

"Already moving," Kieran shot back, eyes bright with pain as he took a step back, narrowly dodging a swiping sword attack from the vice commander.

He slammed the butt of his dagger into the sword‑wrist, stamped the instep, and smashed his brow into the bridge of the man's nose.. Steel snarled as Kieran bound the crimson edge under his dagger's spine and drove the vice back two paces, pressing the attack with a cuff to the throat and a knee to the thigh..

"Don't fall asleep on me now," Kieran murmured.

The vice's mouth tightened; he cut to reset, but Kieran was already there—heel sweeping the rear leg, dagger's spine raking the jaw hinge. Two hard beats and the vice yielded ground, boots carving twin furrows in the grit.

He shoved off the man's chest, sent him stumbling one more pace, and broke toward Bennet.

Eryndor's hand rose a finger width. The Netherbreed surged when the gesture crested, tail lashing. Bennet saw only light and then the taste of iron; the tail tip had nicked his ear and taken half of it. Heat breathed on the raw edge.

Kieran slid in at Bennet's flank without ceremony, "Trade me the inside."

Bennet gave him a half‑step, "Take the eyes."

Kieran obliged—dagger tip stitching a fast cross over the beast's jowl seams to draw its gaze and its breath. Bennet shouldered low and rammed steel for the elbow joint; the point skittered but bit enough to make the foreclaw stutter.

"Again," Bennet said.

They moved like men who had failed together before and refused to do it twice. Kieran baited heat; Bennet took angles; the beast's reach met edges where it expected air.

Eryndor drifted, measuring.

"Persistent," he said, as if noting weather.

The vice cut across to intercept Kieran—too late. Kieran slashed the beast's jowl a second time and bounced out, shoulder to Bennet's.

The Netherbreed recoiled a handspan with a guttural growl of pain—then shook it off, plates rasping as its stance reset.

Grrr!

"It's not going to look good for the both of us if we stay like this," Bennet told him, voice iron‑flat, "Kieran, let a little more loose."

Kieran's answer was a grin that hurt.

He reached to the small of his back and drew a twin—second dagger black as a wet stone.

"Permission noted."

He came on serious now—no flourish, no jokes. Twin blades crossed and uncrossed like shears, catching plates and prying seams. He navigated through the furnace breath instead of fleeing it, split it around his ribs, and pushed the beast back one heavy step, then another.

The vice commander arrived on Kieran's right with a precise diagonal meant to end the lesson.

But this time, Kieran met it with his off‑hand, let the shock travel through wrist and shoulder, and answered with the main blade to the beast's inner elbow, forcing the limb wide.

"His aura hardens—and the footwork has also sharpens," Eryndor noted, eyes narrowing, "So you were holding back. You haven't been taking us seriously."

They fought in split rhythm—Kieran's left turning the vice commander's blade aside, his right sawing at seams; Bennet's weight arriving exactly when Kieran made space. The Netherbreed tried to bull through; it found only grit and edges. For a beat that felt like an earned breath, the three lines—beast, vice, Kieran—stalled each other.

"Hold it there," Bennet said, voice rough.

Kieran held.

The vice pressed and got nothing clean; the beast slammed and found steel knitting where the air should be.

One more step and Kieran stood them still—beast snarling, vice humming, blades locked in a cross that shook his teeth.

Eryndor's eyes narrowed. The line of his mouth lost its amusement.

He vanished—cloak whisper snuffed—and the air creased at Bennet's blind side. Steel fell in a silent, killing arc that arrived before its sound.

"Enough," Eryndor breathed as he struck—

"Vasa."

Kieran didn't shout it; he named it.

In that moment, shadows flowed like spilt ink from his boots, ran up his spine, and tore itself free into wings.

A raven the color of starless water exploded outward, ten thousand feathers lighting like a night sky turning inside out. Each pinion caught the oil‑fire and stole it, making the flames look poorer by comparison.

Mid‑flight the bird changed: quills knitting to plates, edges hardening until they sang.

Clang!

Vasa's left wing became a bevelled shield catching Eryndor's cut so sparks wrote a brief constellation across the dusk with a resounding clang.

The right wing unspooled to a barbed tail that levered the commander's blade off‑line and shoved him a pace back.

Ash rose in a slow ring around them and then fell in soft applause.

The raven hung above, banking once, and folded down to Kieran's shoulder in a single, liquid motion. Its eyes glowed like banked coals through smoke—then narrowed, intent, as if listening for a signal only it could hear.

"Get ready," Kieran said, not to Bennet and not to Eryndor.

Vasa clicked its beak, letting out a small, decisive sound as it prepared to face Eryndor once again.

Eryndor threw his head back and began to laugh wildly. He had been caught off-guard by the appearance of Vasa which seemed to be Kieran's summon.

In that small exchange, he had felt the bird's strength and its strange shapeshifting ability lit up a sense of lust for battle as the fighting ability of both sides now seemed to be more balanced.

A wide, delighted smile appeared on his face as he cackled, "Good. We can have an actual fight now."

He slipped a step and the air tightened, "Beast, with me."

Immediately on that order, the Netherbreed dropped its muzzle and began to approach Kieran as Eryndor cut from the opposite angle. Sensing the threat, Vasa tore off Kieran's shoulder in a smoking arc to meet the beast.

Behind, the vice commander's attention then turned to the remaining Eldorian, blade purring, content to keep him occupied. A confident look appeared on his face as he faced off against Bennet.

But what the two seemed to have missed in their suddenly spurt eagerness for battle was the smile that appeared on Kieran's face too.

Calm and composed, Kieran's glance flicked to Bennet, daggers primed in a battle position, "Don't take too long."

Bennet's jaw set as the two seemed to be on the same page, "Wouldn't dream of it."

Kieran turned back, twin daggers rolling as he spoke to commander, "It's a shame you have to die, commander."

Eryndor's eyes brightened, "All men die. The competent choose the hour."

"Oooo... Looks like I'll get to choose yours then," Kieran said, stepping in as Vasa screamed and the beast lunged.

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