Kieran didn't move when he said it. He let the words hang like a trip‑wire: "You forgot something."
"Don't be so sure," Kieran spoke with a calm look and a slight smirk as he wiped blood with a knuckle, "You forgot something."
Eryndor's gaze stayed on the glint of Kieran's daggers for half a beat longer than a careful man would have allowed.
The air between them felt tight as a drawn wire; even the fire in the broken oil bowls seemed to listen. Behind that line, ash sloped away into a ragged comb of rocks and roots. And from then, from blind side of the field, Bennet came up the ridge without sound.
Metal aether hummed low along his tendons; he shook it off the surface like a smith flicking filings so the ground wouldn't whisper.
Dust curled at his boots and didn't rise. He took thin, measured breaths, keeping his chest still and the ash quiet.
The heat between them wavered. No steps yet—just eyes drawing lines, hands loosening on hilts.
