Date: April 26, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The silence in the white valley became unbearable. Datuk stood, gripping his axe, feeling the blood pound in his temples. Opposite him, at the edge of the sandy bowl, stood the stranger — tall, thin, with mismatched eyes and long silver hair. He didn't move. Wasn't in a hurry. Just looked, and in his gaze was something that made Datuk tense more than before any guardian.
Sobra growled, his silver stripes flaring brighter. The bear crouched, ready to spring, but Datuk held out his hand, stopping him.
"No," he said quietly, not turning. "I'll handle this."
Sobra froze. Concern flickered in his amber eyes, but he knew his friend and trusted his decisions.
"I can handle this idiot," Datuk said, shifting his axe to both hands.
The stranger heard him. Smirked. In his smile, cold, predatory, was something that made Datuk's fists itch.
"Idiot?" Rosh repeated, tilting his head. "Offensive. No one's called me that before. Usually it's 'terrifying,' 'dangerous,' sometimes 'please don't kill me.' And you go straight to 'idiot.'"
"I can always call an idiot an idiot," Datuk stepped forward. "And you look like an idiot. With your hair and your mismatched eyes."
Rosh stopped smiling. His mismatched eyes — green and brown — narrowed.
"That was rude," he said. "You'll pay for that."
He raised his hand, and his fingers began to move, tracing invisible lines in the air. Datuk didn't know what this magic was, but he felt it was dangerous. He didn't wait. He lunged forward, putting all his strength into the first strike.
The axe arced towards Rosh's head. The strike was fast, heavy — enough to take any guardian's head off. But Rosh didn't even flinch. His Vector Spirit came into motion. He turned his wrist slightly, and the axe, which should have buried itself in his skull, suddenly veered aside, slicing the air dangerously close to Datuk's ear and embedding itself in the sand.
Datuk barely kept his balance. He wrenched the axe from the ground, spun, and struck again — horizontal, at the body. Rosh stepped back half a pace, his fingers tracing another complex pattern, and the axe blade, passing a centimeter from his stomach, met empty air.
"What the..." Datuk began, but didn't finish.
Rosh attacked. Short, sharp, without a wind-up. His open palm struck Datuk in the chest, and the dwarf, not expecting such force, flew back several steps, barely staying on his feet.
"You're slow," Rosh said, brushing off his hand. "And predictable. Your axe is heavy, and you put all your strength into each strike. And if I change the direction — you lose your balance."
Datuk gritted his teeth. He didn't understand what was happening. Every strike, every lunge — all met emptiness. As if an invisible force deflected his weapon, making him miss. As if the air itself was against him.
"You're deflecting attacks," Datuk said, straightening. "That's your Spirit?"
"The Vector Spirit," Rosh said, not hiding it. "I can change the direction of anything. Your axe, your fist, even your body, if I want. You can't hit me until I allow it."
"Until you allow it?" Datuk grinned. "Arrogant bastard."
"It's not arrogance," Rosh shrugged. "It's fact. You're strong, dwarf, but your strength is straightforward. And mine isn't."
He raised his hand again, his fingers tracing new patterns. Datuk understood — he couldn't wait any longer. He charged.
The fight continued. Datuk attacked again and again, and each time his axe met emptiness. Rosh moved easily, almost lazily, his Vector Spirit working flawlessly. Every strike the dwarf made veered aside, into the sand, into the air — anywhere but the enemy's body.
Rosh, dodging another lunge, stepped forward and struck Datuk in the shoulder with an open palm. The blow wasn't strong, but precise — it hit the joint, and Datuk's arm went numb for a moment.
Datuk gritted his teeth, shook his arm. The pain passed quickly — his regeneration, enhanced by the Tree, worked properly. But he understood: this fight would be harder than he thought. Rosh didn't just evade — he controlled the very space of the battle. Every movement Datuk made, every attack — all of it was subject to the half-blood's will.
He attacked again. This time, he didn't rely only on his axe. He kicked, tried grapples, tried to close the distance to rob Rosh of room to maneuver. But the half-blood was faster. He evaded every strike, and his fingers continued their strange, hypnotic dance, redirecting the dwarf's attacks into emptiness.
A second blow landed on his side. A third — on his thigh. A fourth — to his head, and Datuk, unable to stay upright, fell to his knees.
Datuk rose. His face was covered in blood from a cut brow, but he was smiling.
He charged again. His axe whistled through the air, and Rosh, dodging, felt his Vector Spirit working at its limit. Each strike required concentration, each change of trajectory — instant reaction. Datuk was strong, and his onslaught was nearly unstoppable.
Only once, when Datuk, risking everything, charged head-on, did his fist graze Rosh's cheek, leaving a red mark. Rosh didn't even try to dodge — he just wasn't fast enough. The Vector Spirit worked, but too late. The blow landed.
"Not bad," the half-blood said, wiping the blood. "You're the first to touch me."
"I didn't touch you," Datuk spat blood. "I hit you."
"Hit," Rosh nodded. "But it won't happen again."
He raised both hands, and his fingers moved faster, tracing complex, almost indistinguishable patterns in the air. Datuk felt the air around him grow denser, heavier, and understood — something serious was coming.
He didn't wait. He lunged forward, putting all his strength, all his fury, all his will into the strike. The axe arced, and Rosh, dodging, tried to change its trajectory but wasn't fast enough — the blade slid along his shoulder, tearing his shirt and leaving a long, bleeding gash on his skin.
Rosh stepped back, touched the wound. His eyes, mismatched, cold, looked at Datuk with a new expression.
"You drew blood," he said. "Second time."
"This is only the beginning," Datuk answered, raising his axe.
The fight continued. But now Rosh grew more serious. His Vector Spirit worked at full power, and every strike Datuk made met emptiness. Datuk took blows, received wounds, and each subsequent healed slower than the last. His regeneration worked at its limit, but resources were not infinite.
And Rosh, it seemed, was only beginning.
"You're strong," the half-blood said when Datuk rose from his knees once more. "But not strong enough."
He stepped closer, his fingers poised for a final strike. Datuk stood, breathing heavily, and knew — he was losing.
"Come on," he said, gripping his axe. "Make me feel this fight."
Rosh stepped forward. But at that moment, the white valley shuddered with a distant sound. Rosh, Datuk, and Sobra — all turned their heads towards where it came from.