"They are waiting," Tobias replied calmly, his eyes reflecting the amber glow of the barrier. "We can only assume this is simply what a predator does when he meets another of his kind. It's the waiting game. The only thing that comes to mind is that ancient question: if a lion and a tiger meet, who wins?"
The stillness stretched on, heavy and suffocating.
Bagu finally broke the silence.
"That sword of yours," he said, voice low and amused. "When do you plan on picking it up? I'm starting to lose my patience."
Taz hooked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing lazily at the blade embedded in the ground.
"This?" he replied. "Relax. You're not ready for it yet."
Bagu laughed—deep, booming, and utterly unbothered.
"Is that so?" he said. "You bring a weapon like that to the field, only to leave it behind? Then what—do you intend to face me with nothing but your fists?"
"Exactly." Taz smiled faintly. "If you can't survive my hands, you don't deserve my sword."
