Soren stepped off the line.
His thigh wouldn't hold a pivot and his ribs were a problem he'd been ignoring for two minutes, so he didn't trade, he leaned.
He just let Troy's beast feel a steadier hand for half a breath, the same half-beat from before, and the knight hesitated on Troy's own swing.
That was the whole win.
Troy's fist arrived a fraction late behind a beast that had paused to listen to the wrong tamer, and Soren slid inside the gap and put his shoulder into Troy's chest and his hand flat on the floor of the bond, and pressed.
He pressed until Troy's own beast settled, all the way down, the way a beast settles when the thing it's fighting stops being a threat and starts being family it doesn't have words for.
The knight folded.
[DING! — Combat resolved. Victor: Soren Kane.]
[DING! — Inter-Class Tournament: WON.]
◆◆◆◆
Troy got up before Soren did.
"Get up, Kane."
"Working on it."
