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The enclave stood half-born, walls rising but unfinished, scaffolds clutching the stone like skeletal fingers. The air carried the scent of mortar and timber, new life pressed into old ground. In the courtyard, where silence and dust held sway, the hum of sabers broke the stillness.
Kael's right hand gripped a curved hilt, its black frame etched with red lines like scars. The orange blade it birthed burned fierce, casting molten light across the pale stone. In his left, its twin: a yellow beam, steadier, warmer, as though balance itself had found form. Together they sang, two notes in constant tension, never quite harmony, never quite dissonance.
A droid's staff lashed in. Kael turned, orange blade meeting the strike in a shower of sparks. Another darted behind him; he spun too slow. The crack of wood against his shoulder sent him staggering forward.
"Steady," he whispered, almost to himself. "Control it."
But the droids were relentless. Another blow struck his ribs, pain flaring sharp, pulling his breath ragged. He brought the yellow blade across to intercept the next strike—barely in time. The weapons hummed at odds, orange crackling like fire, yellow glowing like a sun behind clouds.
"Too slow," Kael muttered, teeth clenched. "Too soft…"
The third staff hammered down. He blocked, the force reverberating through his arms, and in that instant, something shifted. His stance deepened, his movements sharpened. He was no longer yielding ground—he was hunting.
Kael sprang back, boots hitting the courtyard wall. He bent his knees, launched upward, and the sabers carved arcs of light across the dusk. Orange fury cleaved through the first droid's staff, shattering it to fragments. Yellow fire followed, thrusting through the machine's chest with precision too final for mere practice.
He landed hard, cloak whipping behind him, the sabers' twin glow casting long shadows against the unfinished stone. The last droid hesitated a beat, sensors recalibrating—long enough for Kael to advance. His strikes blurred, curved hilts guiding motions that belonged less to form and more to instinct, to the darker rhythm whispering beneath his breath.
Then silence. The courtyard held only the hiss of twin blades and the sound of Kael's breathing, ragged, uneven. He stood amidst the wreckage, orange and yellow burning in his hands, their colors reflected in his eyes—fire and sun, rage and restraint, neither yet victorious.
"…how much longer," he murmured to the stone, to himself, "before one consumes the other?"
Lily Decoria
Kael's right hand gripped a curved hilt, its black frame etched with red lines like scars. The orange blade it birthed burned fierce, casting molten light across the pale stone. In his left, its twin: a yellow beam, steadier, warmer, as though balance itself had found form. Together they sang, two notes in constant tension, never quite harmony, never quite dissonance.
A droid's staff lashed in. Kael turned, orange blade meeting the strike in a shower of sparks. Another darted behind him; he spun too slow. The crack of wood against his shoulder sent him staggering forward.
"Steady," he whispered, almost to himself. "Control it."
But the droids were relentless. Another blow struck his ribs, pain flaring sharp, pulling his breath ragged. He brought the yellow blade across to intercept the next strike—barely in time. The weapons hummed at odds, orange crackling like fire, yellow glowing like a sun behind clouds.
"Too slow," Kael muttered, teeth clenched. "Too soft…"
The third staff hammered down. He blocked, the force reverberating through his arms, and in that instant, something shifted. His stance deepened, his movements sharpened. He was no longer yielding ground—he was hunting.
Kael sprang back, boots hitting the courtyard wall. He bent his knees, launched upward, and the sabers carved arcs of light across the dusk. Orange fury cleaved through the first droid's staff, shattering it to fragments. Yellow fire followed, thrusting through the machine's chest with precision too final for mere practice.
He landed hard, cloak whipping behind him, the sabers' twin glow casting long shadows against the unfinished stone. The last droid hesitated a beat, sensors recalibrating—long enough for Kael to advance. His strikes blurred, curved hilts guiding motions that belonged less to form and more to instinct, to the darker rhythm whispering beneath his breath.
Then silence. The courtyard held only the hiss of twin blades and the sound of Kael's breathing, ragged, uneven. He stood amidst the wreckage, orange and yellow burning in his hands, their colors reflected in his eyes—fire and sun, rage and restraint, neither yet victorious.
"…how much longer," he murmured to the stone, to himself, "before one consumes the other?"
Lily Decoria
