The seven-beat phrase came faster than Owen could fully read.
Wenrik's staff blurred. Silver threads of CE bloomed in the air around him, no longer hanging in suspended notes but moving — circling Owen in a tightening spiral. The Cantor's body weaved between strikes in a fluid, asymmetric motion that didn't match anything in Gorvax's notes.
Strike. Step. Strike. Spin. Strike. Rest. Strike.
Seven beats. Each one harder to predict than the last. Each one threading more silver into the cage forming around Owen.
He blocked four. He missed two. The staff cracked across his left shoulder — pain shot down his arm, the gauntlet absorbed half the impact and deflected the rest into bone. The seventh strike came at his ribs and he barely twisted in time, the staff scraping across his side, opening a thin red line through his under-tunic.
The silver threads completed their first cycle.
Owen felt the resonance lock.
His CE seized.
