Lancet had quickly pressed forward with his burst of excitement, but… Kestrel was not there anymore.
She had flowed out of the way somehow, her body tilting sideways so narrowly that the edge of his blade passed through the space her ribs had occupied a half-breath before, and then she was already moving again.
Her feet weren't even touching the stone. Each step bled into the next without weight or hesitation, as though the mountain itself was lifting her and setting her down wherever she needed to be.
Lancet followed with a second cut, a rising diagonal meant to catch her shoulder, and she bent backward at the waist like a reed in wind, letting the steel skim a finger's width above her collarbone.
The dragon spectres curled around her as she moved, their bodies tracing elegant spirals in the air that mirrored her own motion.
She did not block. She did not parry. She simply was not where the sword was.
