Page 24 of She Who Was Severed

I hear the chime.

She doesn’t wait.

Daxira surges forward, a wave of flame lancing from her right hand as she pivots low. I sidestep, barely, the heat dragging a sting across my cheek. She follows with a hard hook, but I’m already moving, ducking under, striking out at her ribs. She may have her magic, but I’ve always been the better fighter.

Contact. She grunts. Steps back. But her smile never fades.

The drake screams.

Flame cascades in a wide arc. I dive, roll hard, gravel tearing at my back. The chain pulses once, then again. Not uncontrolled. Responsive. Like it knows what I need before I ask.

I shift stance. Inhale. Anchor at the collarbone. Exhale. The Rootform Grip slips into my fingers as naturally as breath. My stance adjusts. Low. Grounded. Going to the glade was worth it. Every failed attempt. Every page I wasn’t meant to read.

Daxira sees it. Her smile falters.

“You’ve been practicing,” she says, circling.

I don’t reply.

She lunges again. This time she brings the heat close, her palm flaring red. I lift my wrapped wrist and meet her head-on.

The chain hums.

Energy flares outward. Not visible. Not elemental. But real. Pressure explodes between us, like air collapsing in on itself. Daxira stumbles two steps back.

The drake hisses, wings flaring. Its fire doesn’t launch. It flickers. Then dies.

She charges. I brace.

Her fist connects with my shoulder. Pain lances through me. But I use the momentum to pivot, catching her off-guard with an elbow to the jaw.

She reels. Her beast screeches.

And then she’s on me.

We hit the ground together. I’m under her, weight crushing my ribs. She lifts her hand, flame coalescing in her palm.

The chain tightens.

There’s a sound I can’t explain. Like iron pulled across stone.

The fire vanishes.

Her beast cries out. The sigils between them dim, like ash smothered by water. Her hand trembles.

She backs off, breathing hard. Confused.

The priests stand now.

“Enough,” one says.

Daxira glares at me. I push to my feet, slow and careful, my body screaming with bruises. The chain eases back to a dull hum.

Her voice is quieter now. Bitter. “What are you?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.