The street was quiet for the moment, the distant roar of rifts and hunters fading into the background. Isaac slumped against the rubble, bloodied, bruised, and trembling. Helena knelt beside him, her hands glowing faintly as she worked to stabilize his wounds.
Helena (softly, hesitant): "You're lucky you're still alive… you could have died out there."
Isaac swallowed, chest heaving. His eyes drifted to the knife in his hand, still smeared with blood, still trembling. A dull ache radiated from every muscle, every joint, yet something was stirring inside him.
The flashes returned. This time, stronger, but different… not just instinct guiding his limbs. Images of Irithel's movements, stances, and strikes burned into his mind. He could see the flow of combat, the placement of feet, the twist of the wrist, the angle of a blade strike… yet his body didn't fully understand.
He tried to stand.
Isaac (muttering to himself): "I… I can't… but… I can try."
Helena watched him carefully, her hands hovering over a faint glow.
Isaac lifted the knife, imitating a stance he saw in the memory flash: feet wide, knees bent, body coiled like a spring. He swung experimentally, clumsy, ungraceful, but the shape, the motion, mirrored Irithel's training.
His first stab was off-target, slow, awkward.
He then tried a sideways slash, almost losing balance, but he adjusted mid-motion as though guided by an invisible force.
Each movement felt alien, heavy, and uncoordinated, yet he could sense the flow of combat inside him, faintly echoing Irithel's precision.
Isaac (whispering, more to himself than Helena): "I… I can move like her… kinda… maybe…"
Helena's eyes widened, a mix of awe and fear. "That… that was impressive. I've never seen someone pick up moves like that… instinctively, I mean."
Isaac shook his head, frustrated. "I don't… I don't understand it… it's like… like I'm copying something I've never learned. It's… wrong… and right at the same time."
Helena nodded slowly. "Maybe it's… a memory. Something inside you. Something… powerful."
Isaac tried again, this time swinging the knife with more intention, following the pattern he had glimpsed in the flash. He stumbled, twisted awkwardly, and barely recovered, but he felt something shift inside his body… the knife felt lighter, the motions smoother, if only slightly.
A flicker of pride sparked in him, mingling with exhaustion. For the first time since the invasion began, Isaac realized: he could fight. Not fully, not yet. But the seed had been planted.
Helena (softly, smiling faintly): "Rest a moment. You've earned it. But… keep practicing. You'll need every move you can get."
Isaac sank back against the rubble, closing his eyes. Flashes of Irithel's dual-blade mastery, elemental attacks, and battlefield grace continued to flicker behind his eyelids. He didn't understand them, but he knew one thing: survival was no longer just running.
He would learn.
He would fight.
And someday, he would stand against the hunters and the chaos that had taken everything from him.