Pheo's eyes narrowed as Aeris shifted her stance again, cloak whispering against her legs as though the wind didn't dare touch her. Her movements had no drag, no resistance. Every step was unnatural in its speed, every strike inhuman in weight.
But no air meant more than just speed. His thoughts reached for something he had once read before, something about divers and soldiers who pushed their bodies past their limits, the Valsalva maneuver.
The Valsalva maneuver is where you force pressure into the lungs, holding it, bracing the body against suffocation. It worked, but only for a while. He understood it now, how Aeris' gift worked.
She had to seal herself from the world just to wield that gift, keeping air locked inside her chest while the outside couldn't touch her. It made her a weapon, but it also made her fragile. Because the longer she held it, the worse the side effects would get.
He pictured it inside of his mind. The burning in the lungs, the blood hammering in the head, the dizziness that clouded thought and slowed reaction. The pressure crushing inward until every second felt like a blade against the ribs.
That was his opening, his ticket to winning. All he had to do was endure. If he could keep her moving, keep her diving in and retreating, the clock would do his work for him. Her own gift would eventually betray her.
Pheo lowered his stance, jaw set with his sword angled steady before him. His body screamed from the strain of keeping up, but his mind held onto that single thread of hope.
Just wait. Survive the storm. Then strike when the falcon's wings falter.
Aeris showed her disappointment plainly, her cyan-marked face beneath the sweeping hood of her cloak. "So this is all?" she said, her tone sharp with disdain. "Then I'll end this faster, now that there's nothing left for me to see."
She moved again. Not much of a flurry, so much as a series of precisions. A downward arc, a ripping slash, a feint that exploded into a crushing shoulder. Each strike carried the same impossible weight that had nearly broken him before.
Pheo met them blade to spike, parried, fucked, and rolled. Sometimes, he barely diverted the blow, something he gulped the air and forced a block where his armed screamed to give way. Each contact shook him from fingertip to heel.
He was visibly spent. Sweat ran into his eyes, breath rasping through clenched teeth. His legs wobbled like a man who had kept sprinting too long. Yet, something about the set of his jaw, the steadiness behind his pupils, refused to crumble.
Aeris watched him as she pressed the attack, and the expression that crossed her face was not the triumph she'd expected. She saw the look in his eyes. It wasn't the panic of someone begging to be spared, not the hollow glare of someone broken by fear.
Pheo's eyes were hard, a sharpened look. It was one of a warrior's acceptance of cost, not surrender. That steadiness annoyed and intrigued her at once. So she kept striking harder, faster, testing him to understand the hardness in his eyes.
He barely avoided one heavy blow by sliding his sword up, the spike skittering past his forearm and tearing his sleeve. He rolled out of the next, parried the third until his shoulders shook from the recoil. Each time she pulled back only to come again, as relentless as the tide.
In the space between strikes Pheo remembered his plan. Wait. Make her spend it. Let her body betray the grace she wore like armor. He tasted the iron, the sweat, and the pressure in his ears and held the thought like a rope.
Aeris' breaths, if she took them at all, were tight and measured beneath the cyan mask of war-paint, but she gave no sign of slowing. Her strikes remain precise and surgical.
And yet, for all her relentlessness, a sliver of unease had edged into her stance, a hairline wobble at the shoulder when she reared to strike, a tiny hitch in the rhythm of her footfall when she pushed off.
She hid it well, only someone who'd been forced to survive the impossible would notice. The duel tightened into a taut wire. Every block, every dodge, a test of who would crack first.
Aeris launched herself again, her eyes hard, blade a comet of intent. Meanwhile, Pheo was breathing hard on the verge of collapse, readying himself to endure another pass.
Pheo steadied his breathing, letting his eyes track her between the bursts of motion. Each strike rattled his bones, every swing like the dive of a hawk meant to crush prey before it could even twitch.
Yet between those lunging blows, he saw it, just the smallest hesitation, the faintest stiffening of her movements, as if a part of her body begged her to stop. When she drew back again, her cyan-lit war-paint flickering in the light, Pheo called out hoarsely, "You feel it, don't you?"
Aeris paused mid-step, her cloak shifting as if caught in a phantom gust. A small, amused smile touched her lips. "Sharp," she said, her tone neither defensive nor shaken, but almost approving.
"Most don't notice until it's far too late. Tell me, boy. What gave it away?" Pheo gripped his sword tighter, forcing himself to stay upright despite his trembling arms. "You never faltered in your strikes. You hid it perfectly."
"But I've seen enough to know when something doesn't add up, read enough to know things. You move as if air doesn't exist for you… but if that's true, then you shouldn't be able to breathe either."
Her eyes narrowed, the cyan glow pulsing faintly across her face like living paint. A low chuckle escaped her as she straightened. "Not bad. You pieced it together without a single tell. Most would've thought me untouchable."
Then her chuckled faded, replaced by a sharper glint in her eyes. "Impressive, really." Aeris said, lowering her stance, the spiked edge of her weapon gleaming as she rolled her shoulders. "If you've already figured that much out… then there's no point in restraint."
The windless air around her cloak rippled unnaturally as she gripped her weapon tighter. Cyan lines across her face began to burn brighter, flaring like embers. "I'll fight you as I usually do," she declared, voice steady.
"No more half-measures. Stand tall, Pheo, because you've gained my recognition."
Aeris lunged, but this time there was no retreat in her motion. The spike edge cut through the air with a savage clarity, and instead of darting back like a swooping raven, she pressed forward.
Her cloak snapped as the cyan glow rippled once more across her face, her gift surging in and out like a heartbeat. Pheo raised his sword just in time to catch the blow, but the weight behind it jolted through his arms, nearly tearing the weapon from his grip.
His breath hitched, his eyes widening. She wasn't withdrawing. She was staying. Strike after strike came down, each one heavier than the last. He tried to roll away, but Aeris was there, cutting him off, her gift flickering on to carry her in faster than he could adjust.
When he tried to parry, her weapon didn't slip aside but locked against his, pinning it, forcing him to feel the strain in his trembling hands. Pheo grit his teeth, his arms shaking. Every time he thought she would break away, she didn't.
She pressed closer, testing the limits of his endurance. Her cyan marks burned in the dim light, her eyes sharp and unyielding. "You thought I was a shadow that strikes and fades," Aeris said, her tone cutting as sharp as her weapon.
"But the hunt doesn't always end in one blow. Sometimes it corners the prey… until the prey can no longer defend themselves." Her gift pulsed again, air bending strangely around her as she shifted, closing off every retreat.
The pressure on Pheo mounted with each passing heartbeat. His sword arm ached, his grip faltering, his body no longer able to keep pace with her relentless offense.
Aeris' weapon came down in a savage arc. Pheo braced, but his exhausted arms couldn't hold. The impact sent his sword flying from his grasp, clattering across the stone floor. The heart lurched, instinct kicking in as he reached for his sling at his waist.
But Aeris was already there. A flash of cyan burned across her face, her cloak snapping as she closed the gap faster than he could react. The shaft of her weapon cracked against his wrist with surgical precision, knocking the sling from his grip before he even had the chance to whirl it.
The spiked edge of her weapon hovered just at his throat, close enough for him to feel the air shift around the jagged steel. Pheo froze, his body screamed to move, but one twitch forward would end the duel far more brutally than intended.
"That's enough," Anora's voice cut through the tension, firm and final. "The duel is over."
Aeris held her weapon steady for a moment longer, her eyes never leaving Pheo's. Then, with a warrior's discipline, she lowered the spiked edge and pulled back, her cloak settling as the cyan glow faded from her face.
Pheo's knees nearly buckled with the release of pressure, the reality of defeat settling heavy in his chest.
Though Aeris didn't speak, the way her eyes lingered on Pheo as she stepped back carried a weight that words couldn't. It wasn't pity, nor condescension. It was silent respect, a warrior's acknowledgement that he had endured longer than most.
Pheo lowered his head slightly, not in shame, but in recognition of the respect she silently offered him. His lungs still burned, muscles trembling from overexertion, but he had lasted. That alone was more than most could say.
Before he could catch his breath, a hand entered his vision. Aero. The older Raven pulled him up with surprising ease, clapping him on the shoulder with a crooked grin. "You know," Aero said, brushing dirt from Pheo's sleeve, "You made a lot of enemies today."
Pheo blinked, confused, still catching his breath. "Enemies? Why?"
"Because half the lot," Aero jerked his chin toward the gathered Ravens, many of whom were muttering, some shaking their heads with looks that ranged from annoyed to impressed.
"They betted you wouldn't even last a minute against Aeris. Most challenges don't. Most can't. They usually crumple from her strikes before they ever figure out what she's doing."
Pheo's brows furrowed, realization dawning. "...And I ruined their wagers by piecing it together."
"Exactly," Aero said, amused. "You didn't just last longer, you figured her secret out without being told. That doesn't happen." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Better expect some hard love from some of them in future spars."
A few of the watching Ravens shot Pheo dark looks as if confirming Aero's words, while others eyed him with an unfamiliar glint, part suspicion, part curiosity, as though reevaluating him.
Before Pheo could say more, a firm, commanding voice cut through the murmurs.
"You've definitely improved."
Anora approached him, her presence parting the circle of gathered Ravens without effort. The whispers almost died instantly. Her gaze fixed on Pheo, being as sharp as a blade.
There was no warmth in her tone, no softness, but neither was there dismissal. Her words carried weight because they were earned. "You lasted," Anora continued, stopping a few paces away from him.
"You adapted. You kept your mind clear and uncovered what others never could in the heat of the moment. Your strength gave out, yes, but that is only the fault of your age, something time will mend."
"But we can only know so much from watching. To be certain…" She let the pause stretch, her eyes narrowing as though she were already calculating the outcome. "...you and I will need to spar."
Pheo blinked, stunned. "Now? After–" He glanced down at his trembling arms, still heavy with exhaustion from the duel. Anora didn't let him finish. "We'll be fixing that. Follow me."
Confusion twisted in his chest, but he obeyed, trailing after her as Aero gave him a quick nod of reassurance. The Ravens parted as Anora led him out of the grounds, past the training yards and supply tents, toward the section reserved for the wounded.
The air there felt heavier, quieter, carrying the smell of herbs and iron. They moved further still, into a part of the grounds Pheo had never seen before. The further they went, the fewer people were there, until it was only the two of them walking a hushed path.
"What do you mean by fixing it?" Pheo asked, his voice breaking the silence. His body ached with every step, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. "You'll see soon enough," Anora replied, her tone clipped but not unkind.
At last, they stopped before a wooden door marked with a painted Caduceus. The symbol seemed to pulse faintly in the torchlight, as though alive. Anora pushed the door open without hesitation.
Inside, a middle-aged man looked up from his work. His dark hair was flecked with gray, his jaw shadowed by a rough stubble. What drew Pheo's eyes, however, was the serpent coiled around his shoulders and torso, its scales glowing a steady green as though it were made of light itself.
The man's eyes flicked from Anora to Pheo, one brow lifting. "What are you doing here?" His voice was calm, but carried the weight of someone long accustomed to seeing blood.
Anora stepped forward. "I brought you a new patient." She gestured toward Pheo.
The man rose from his chair, the serpent uncoiling slightly as if stirred by his movement. His eyes narrowed as he studied Pheo, not with casual inspection but with a surgeon's precision.
"You've got a fractured rib on the left side, strained tendons in both arms, bruising along your abdomen, and–" his gaze lingered briefly at Pheo's cheek, "a shallow cut that should be cleaned before it festers."
Pheo blinked. The man hadn't even touched him, yet he recited every ache and injury like he was reading a ledger. The stranger came closer, folding his arms. "What in the world got you this beat up?"
"I've been sparring with the Ravens," Pheo admitted, his voice carrying both pride and weariness. At that, the man's expression hardened. His eyes cut toward Anora, sharp with reproach.
"The Ravens?" He let out a low breath, as though struggling to believe it. "You made someone this young spare with one of the director's elite squadrons?" Anora met his look with her usual calm, her hands clasped behind her back. "It wasn't without reason."
The man sighed, shaking his head. "You and your reasons." He muttered it more to himself than her, but the weight of disapproval was clear. With a small gesture, he pointed Pheo toward a padded bench at the side of the room.
"Sit." His tone left no room for argument.
As Pheo lowered himself down, the man straightened, brushing the serpent idly as though it were an old companion. "Name's Zike," he said, his voice losing some of its edge. "I'm the one in charge of the medical team here. And right now, I'm in charge of whether you live or not."
Zike dug into his coat pocket and tossed something at Pheo without even looking. It bounced off his chest and landed in his lap. A lollipop that was wrapped in cheap, crinkly paper.
"Take it," Zike muttered, rubbing at his stubble. "Keeps your nerves down. And if nothing else, it'll keep your mouth busy so I don't have to listen to you complain while I work."
Pheo blinked at the candy, then unwrapped it anyway. The sweetness hit his tongue, sharp and cloying, but it distracted him from the aching in his muscles. Zike gave him a long, tired once-over, eyes tracing every bruise, every cut, every twitch of pain like he'd already catalogued a hundred others just like him.
"So, kid," he sighed, "how long have you been in real fights? Not drills. Not wooden sticks. I mean, when somebody's actually trying to put you six feet under." Pheo hesitated. "...Not long."
"And yet you're still standing after fighting a Raven. Either you've got the kind of luck that won't last long, or you're too damn stubborn to know when to drop. I'll let time sort that out."
"Ah, right. I forgot to ask." He leaned forward, cracking his back with a grunt, then crouched until he was eye level with Pheo. "You don't happen to be afraid of snakes, right?
Pheo opened his mouth. "I–"
The serpent around Zike moved before he could finish. Its head darted forward, fangs sinking into the side of Pheo's neck. The boy jerked, but Zike didn't even flinch, just pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already tired of the reaction.
"Relax," he said flatly. "If it wanted you dead, you wouldn't even have the time to scream. Trust me. This is the nice bite." The snake coiled tighter, its scales glowing faint green where the fangs pierced.
Heat spread through Pheo's veins, chasing out the pain in his bones, sealing cuts, and burning away the ache that had sunk into him since the duels. It was healing, but it didn't feel gentle. It felt like being forced back into shape.
"Yeah, hurts like hell at first," Zike muttered, rolling his shoulders as if this bored him. "But that just means it's working. At least I think it is." Pheo's heart raced from the bite, watching as the green venom glowed inside of him.
"Calm down. It's not a real snake," he said, gesturing vaguely to the green-scaled coil tightening around his arm. "It's my gift. A manifestation, if you want to get fancy with it. Doesn't eat rats or mice, doesn't slither around in the grass. All it does is wrap around me and heal… if you feed it."
Pheo's hand hovered near the bite on his neck. "Feed it?" Zike straightened, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah. Nothing in this world comes free, kid. For every wound it patches, you gotta give something of equivalent value. How the world spins around after all."
Pheo frowned. "Equivalent value? Like what?" Zike's mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. "Hmm, for that nasty bruise of your gut? Give or take, about fifteen years from your lifespan."
The blood drained from Pheo's face. "What did you say?" Zike barked out a rough laugh, shoulders shaking. "Relax, kid. Damn, you should've seen your face. Thought you were about to keel over before my snake even finished."
He rubbed his eyes, still chuckling. "No, we don't take from people. That'd be stupid. You think I'd be working here if I burned through soldiers like firewood?" Pheo blinked, still unsettled. "Then… where does it come from?"
Zike jerked a thumb toward a side table stacked with dark packets. He grabbed one, tore it open with his teeth, and tilted it toward the serpent. As if on cue, the green coils shifted, head dipping to latch onto the packet.
The blood inside drained in seconds, the empty husk of plastic crumpling in Zike's hand. "We use blood," he said simply, tossing the drained packet aside. "Wildlife from the Badlands. Beasts tougher than most armor, things that can chew a man in half if you're unlucky."
"We draw their blood, store it, and feed it to my little friend here. Their vitality pays the price so you don't have to." The serpent lifted his head, faintly glowing again as Pheo's pain dulled further, wounds stitching beneath the skin.
Zike yawned, stretching his arms behind his back. "See? Nothing to panic over. You keep fighting. You're gonna see me a lot. Might as well get used to the snake."The glow of the serpent faded as it slipped back around Zike's arm, its work done.
Pheo stretched his arms, blinking in disbelief as the pain went away, his body whole again. "Good as new," Zike stuttered, waving him off with a tired flick of the hand. "Go on, kid. Try not to crawl back here in pieces again."
Before Pheo could even say anything, Anora had already stepped forward. "He won't have time to rest. We're going straight to the next duel." Zike turned on her, his voice sharp for the first time.
"The hell you talking about? You're throwing him back in already? Look at him, he's a kid. He isn't some warhound you can just patch up with some bandages and bleed dry again."
Anora's eyes stayed level, unreadable. "It's not without reason."
He sighed, "That's the same line you gave me earlier," Zike said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't make it sound any less insane." But she was already leading Pheo out, the boy glancing back before disappearing through the doorway.
When the door shut, the infirmary felt colder. Zike leaned back against his chair, exhaling through his teeth. The snake shifted restlessly, head darting toward the counter.
"You again?" Zike grumbled. He pulled out another blood packet, letting the serpent latch on. The first drained fast, but the snake didn't settle. Its glow remained faint, almost hungry.
"Still not enough?" He tossed the empty packet aside and fed it another. Then another. And another. The pile grew until ten empty husks lay scattered across his desk, crimson stains smeared on the wood.
Only then did the serpent coil back into itself, its glow finally steady, its body slack with contentment. Zike stared at the mess, his stubble shadowing the frown on his face. "The hell did you eat so much for?" he muttered, scratching his jaw.
"Five packets is enough to bring a man back from the edge of death." His gaze flicked to the door Pheo had walked out of. "So what the hell are you, kid?"