"Keep him occupied," Noober said, already stepping back. "Do not let him focus on me."
There was no tremor in his voice now.
Only intent.
Light gathered faintly around him—muted, defensive.
Brage's eyes snapped toward the motion.
"Break them," he ordered.
His blade rose fully.
The war dogs moved first, but not with frenzy. They advanced in disciplined arcs, low to the ground, shoulders rolling with trained efficiency. One drove straight toward Rasaad's centerline, jaws angling not for the throat but for leverage. The second cut wide, targeting Imoen's flank in a maneuver meant to collapse space rather than pursue it.
Rasaad did not retreat. He sank his weight instead, bracing through the ball of his rear foot as the first dog collided against forearm and shoulder. The impact shuddered through him, but he turned with it, allowing the momentum to slide rather than anchor. Teeth snapped shut against bark-hardened skin instead of flesh.
Imoen yielded only enough to deny purchase. Her blade traced a shallow line across harness and muscle — corrective rather than lethal. The dog adjusted instantly, disciplined even under pressure.
Branwen's voice carried over the clash.
"Tempus, guide."
The blessing did not blaze. It settled. Muscle aligned with intent. Breath steadied. The world sharpened at its edges.
Brage entered that clarity as though it belonged to him.
His blade moved in measured arcs, two-handed and efficient. Every strike demanded a decision. He pressed Branwen first, exploiting the absence of her shield, then flowed seamlessly into pressure against Rasaad.
Xan withdrew half a pace, pale but focused. The Moonblade lowered as his free hand rose.
"Hold."
The magic struck.
Brage's movement checked for the smallest fraction of time before resuming with undisturbed precision.
"You attempt restraint," he observed, adjusting his angle as though correcting for wind.
The forest stirred in response.
The dryad's voice threaded through bark and root, and one of the war dogs faltered mid-stride. Its head turned aside, confusion flickering through trained instinct. It hesitated.
The second did not.
It lunged again.
Brage adjusted instantly to the altered formation.
I saw the opening against Branwen before I fully understood the cost of stepping into it.
I moved anyway.
Late.
My blade caught his descending arc, but the force behind it was nothing like the gnolls. This was controlled weight — technique honed through repetition.
The shock traveled cleanly through my guard. My stance shifted half an inch too far.
Brage rotated through the bind without effort and reversed direction in a compact, brutal correction.
Steel slid past mine and bit through.
The cut burned hot and immediate. My lungs emptied before I recognized the sound as my own.
The ground rose sharply to meet me.
Warmth spread beneath my armor — too quickly.
Imoen's voice broke.
"No!"
She drove at Brage's flank, forcing him to redirect. He moved through her angle without looking down.
Sound dulled as I lay there. Steel rang at a distance. Breath would not deepen. The world narrowed until it felt thin and remote.
This was how it ended, then.
Pressure anchored at my side.
"Stay."
Branwen's voice was steady. The divine invocation followed, pressing inward through torn flesh and failing breath. Pain returned before strength did, but it returned clean.
Air tore back into my lungs.
The world regained its weight.
I rolled onto one elbow. The wound burned fiercely, but it no longer emptied me.
Rasaad had shifted his method. He did not strike to kill. He redirected and displaced, forcing Brage to adjust rather than advance. Each motion economical. Each response measured.
The dryad's tone changed.
The air around Brage grew subtly dense. His timing narrowed by degrees so small they might have gone unnoticed moments before. The precision remained, but the margin thinned.
Xan lifted his hand again.
"Hold."
This time, the magic seized fully.
Brage's blade halted mid-arc. His muscles locked under invisible constraint, breath caught behind clenched teeth.
The remaining war dog lunged toward Xan.
Imoen intercepted, sliding low and striking at the shoulder joint. The animal twisted sharply, forced to reengage her rather than reach the caster.
Rasaad stepped inside Brage's immobilized guard and struck at his hands with precise force. The two-handed sword slipped from rigid fingers and struck the earth.
Behind him, Noober closed the distance.
Sanctuary had thinned. He stood visible now.
His hands rose.
"By what was sworn and broken…"
The words did not carry outward. They pressed inward.
The air tightened around Brage's frame.
For the first time, strain showed clearly in his eyes.
"By oath misbound and will divided…"
Something resisted.
Then fractured.
Hold released as the pressure peaked. Brage staggered forward, free of paralysis — yet he did not swing. He did not reach for the fallen blade.
His gaze moved across the clearing.
The bodies.
The blood.
The disruption.
Understanding arrived in stages. Confusion first. Then recognition. Then a quiet horror that did not erupt but settled.
The uncharmed war dog froze beside Imoen, awaiting command.
Brage inhaled slowly.
Deep.
Controlled.
"Heel."
The word carried no strain.
The disciplined war dog withdrew at once, stepping back to his side. The other remained tense for a moment longer, confusion lingering in its posture before the foreign influence drained away. It lowered its head and moved uncertainly toward him.
Silence followed.
Not the tense silence of imminent violence.
A different one.
The weight of what had nearly occurred.
Brage's shoulders lowered slightly. When he looked up again, the authority remained — but it was no longer strained against something unseen.
His eyes settled briefly on me.
On the blood at my side.
Then on Noober.
Understanding deepened there as well.
The clearing did not celebrate.
It exhaled.
And for the first time since steel had met steel, no one prepared for the next strike.