They moved at the same time.
Merlin kicked off the sand first, wind curling around his boots like a second set of tendons. He didn't leap. He redirected. Air bent, legs snapped forward, and momentum screamed sideways.
The other trialer followed. Fast. Knife flashing once, then again, angles precise, posture effortless.
Their blades met in the middle of the storm like punctuation. Not elegant. Just loud.
The impact cracked across the dune. Sand exploded.
Merlin shifted immediately, water condensed from the storm's breath to slide under the next strike, pushing off it mid-swing. He twisted past the second blow, pulled space tight near his ribs, and ducked into a sidestep that shouldn't have worked on shifting terrain.
It worked anyway.
Sovereign Chain mapped the motion for him.
The blade skimmed past his collarbone. Close.
Closer than he liked.
He didn't flinch.
Wind shoved upward. He launched.
