Veric raises Undertow without the gladius, and the whole arena seems to narrow around us.
Memory of Lightwaves opens inside my body like an old tide waking the ghosts of shipwrecks.
Too many experiences cross my muscles at once: hands that held straight swords in hall duels, feet that slid over mud in trenches, shoulders that took the weight of heavy blades on besieged walls. Each memory comes with an answer ready.
And each answer charges OXI.
I move in with Eventide aligned to the center, base low, two dry steps and a guard that recalls old kendo. The first cut drops economical, no excess, forcing Veric to respect the precision of the whole line. Undertow takes the impact, and his arm sinks just enough for me to feel and understand the weight of the defense through my skill.
Before he adjusts, my posture changes.
