The smoke thickened faster than the fire should have allowed.
It didn't rise cleanly. It spread, clinging low at first, then folding back into the room as the heat shifted unevenly. Within seconds, the space they had been fighting in was no longer a room but a blur of shapes and movement.
Shion adjusted her footing.
Her grip tightened, not out of panic, but necessity. Sight was no longer reliable. The edges of the room had disappeared into a dull gray, and every movement beyond arm's reach became guesswork.
She listened instead, boots against wood. A shift of weight. Breath cutting through smoke, it wasn't enough.
Something moved to her right, too fast to trace. She turned into it, bringing the blade across in a short arc. Steel met something, glanced, then slipped past as the figure pulled back just in time.
Another presence followed immediately after. Closer, too close.
A blade scraped across her forearm before she could fully turn. Shallow, but real. She didn't pull back. There wasn't space for it. Instead, she stepped forward into where the strike had come from, forcing the distance closed again. The edge of her weapon caught resistance this time. Not clean. Enough.
A body hit the floor somewhere in front of her, behind her, the room shifted again, more footsteps.
They were coming in.
The door, she hadn't heard it open, but she could hear the difference now. Movement that hadn't been there before. Less hesitation. More weight behind each step.
They didn't need to see clearly, they just needed numbers.
Near the window, the man finally moved.
The frame struck the wall as it opened, letting in a sharp line of light that cut briefly through the smoke. He raised one hand, palm outward, and a short burst of wind pushed forward. Not strong, not sustained, but enough to clear the air around him. Enough for himself.
The smoke bent, thinned near the window, then folded back again as it spread through the rest of the room.
It didn't reach Shion.
From where she stood, the difference was barely noticeable. Shapes remained indistinct, movement unreliable. Every step had to be measured, every reaction delayed just enough to confirm it wasn't guesswork.
That delay cost her.
A strike came from low this time. She caught it late, turning just enough that the blade slid across her side instead of sinking in. Another followed from the opposite direction, catching her upper arm before she could fully reset.
Shallow again, but adding up, she exhaled once, steadying.
No retreat. No space to give. If she moved back blindly, she would lose track of Eren.
She shifted slightly, recalibrating her position by instinct alone, keeping the distance she remembered between them.
Across the room, Eren had found something to anchor herself.
Not faces. Not movement.
Feet.
Through the smoke, the lower half of the room remained just visible enough. Boots against the floor. Steps. Angles. Weight shifting before a strike, it wasn't clarity, but it was something.
She adjusted to it quickly, her stance lowering slightly, her attention pulled downward. The first attack she deflected cleanly, catching the blade near the hilt before it could rise properly. The second she avoided by half a step, the attacker overcommitting into empty space. It worked, not perfectly, just better, still...
The rhythm wasn't there.
Not yet.
Another figure moved past her line of sight, cutting toward Shion. Eren saw it. The angle, the timing, the intent behind the step. Her body reacted.
Then stalled, just for a moment, long enough to recognize it, long enough to hesitate.
The shape wasn't clear, but the build, the movement, it pulled at something familiar, something ingrained. The same fraction of doubt she had been pushing down since they started traveling together.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But it did.
By the time she moved, the window was gone, the strike had already landed. Shion turned into it too late to avoid it cleanly. The blade caught along her ribs, shallow but sharp enough to force a shift in her stance.
She didn't falter, didn't even acknowledge it. From her side, it was just another attack in the dark, she made another adjustment, taking another step forward.
Eren tightened her grip.
That delay—small as it had been—sat heavier than the strike itself.
She stepped in again, this time without pause, intercepting the next movement before it could fully form. Steel met steel, harder this time, less measured. She pushed forward, forcing the attacker back, forcing space where there hadn't been any.
The smoke continued to thicken. The window helped, but not enough.
The man near it remained clear, outlined by the thin current of air he maintained around himself, watching the rest of the room through a space he had carved out alone.
The others fought inside the haze.
Blind, or close enough to it.
And the longer it held, the more it favored those willing to move without seeing.