Titania simply watched
Ludwig dropped from the branch without ceremony, his cloak catching briefly in the wind before settling across his shoulders like a curtain falling on an unfinished act. He hit the ground light on his feet this time, sword drawn again. The ringing ache in his wrist had faded, but the memory of how she struck lingered. It was precise. Deliberate. There was no wasted effort, no excessive movement. And that alone unnerved him more than brute force would have.
He didn't waste words this time.
He came forward with a renewed thrust, clean, center-line, all his weight committed behind the tip of Oathcarver. A textbook move. Predictable. Obvious. But his speed was sharp, the angle true, and the intent deadly.
Titania's only reply was a quiet, disappointed click of her tongue. It was the kind of sound one made when spotting a stain on silk, not when dodging an attack that could sever a boar in half.
