Velurya didn't flinch.
She stared.
Still. Quiet. Unmoved.
Then—slowly—her lips parted.
A sound escaped.
Not a sigh. Not a scoff.
Something lighter. Sharper.
Almost a laugh.
But it died too quickly to be called one.
"…So that's your play?"
Her voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
It slid through the dark like a knife hidden in silk.
She took a single step forward.
Not rushed. Not threatening.
But certain.
"You try to bait me with filth—hoping I'd slip."
Her gaze didn't waver. "Is that how far you've fallen?"
Another step.
Her shadow stretched under the twisted trees, long and broken by the uneven moonlight.
"I imagined you… sharper," she said. "Or at least subtle."
The air between them thickened—not with rage, but revelation.
"You speak with power," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, like she was studying him again for the first time. "But wield it like a brute in silk robes."
Then—
She smiled.
Not wide. Not warm.
A small, precise thing.
"You want to test me? Fine."
The smile vanished.
Replaced by silence.
Then, one final step—closer than before. Close enough that the space between them finally meant something.
"But don't pretend you're the predator here."
She raised her hand—just slightly. Fingers poised like they were brushing away dust.
"And don't ever try to use your voice like a weapon again…"
A pause. Her eyes gleamed.
"…unless you're ready to bleed for it."
Yanwei blinked once.
Then he laughed.
Quiet at first.
Not mocking. Not forced.
A real laugh—low, smooth, and rich with something rare:
Amusement.
He stepped into the moonlight, letting her see all of him now.
The bald head. The ragged cloak. The half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"…You wound me," he said, voice dancing on the edge of mockery and admiration.
"But I'll admit—that was well said."
His head tilted ever so slightly.
A glint in his gaze, like a fire flickering behind old coals.
"You have steel in your words, Velurya. I like that."
He raised a single finger, slowly tapping his own chest.
"But you've misunderstood something."
His smirk widened—just enough to be unnerving.
"I wasn't pretending to be a predator."
A pause.
"I am one."
His foot shifted. Just slightly. The sound beneath was soft—but final.
The stillness between them cracked like ice.
Then he raised his hand, palm open.
"But let's be fair."
His tone dropped, playful and cold.
"If I make you kneel…"
He let the words hang—no rush.
"…then you'll answer all of my questions."
A heartbeat.
"That's all I want."
He gave a small shrug, almost casual.
"Of course, if you make me kneel—"
A grin tugged at his lips, sharp and wild.
"—you can do whatever you like."
Another pause.
"Kill me. Strip me of my name. Spit on my corpse. I won't stop you."
The moonlight shifted between the trees, wind brushing through the forest like it too was waiting.
Yanwei's stance lowered, ever so slightly.
"Shall we?"
Velurya narrowed her eyes.
A flicker of confusion crossed her otherwise calm expression.
"…What question?"
Her voice was quieter now—not weakened, but genuinely puzzled.
"What could possibly be worth that much effort? You've spent so much time—"
She didn't finish.
A glint.
A whisper of metal slicing air.
Her body shifted instinctively—sharp, precise.
She twisted, head dipping low—
shing!
The dagger flew past, barely missing.
So close it brushed the edge of her hair.
One second slower, and her cheek would've been sliced open.
She landed softly, robes settling as her gaze snapped back to him.
Yanwei was already grinning.
That same sharp, tooth-baring smirk—wild with confidence.
"I already told you," he said, voice rich with ridicule,
"—I'm a predator."
He stepped forward, slow but certain, like a man who knew he had the advantage.
"Face me like one…"
His gaze flicked downward, deliberate.
"…or you'll end up on your knees, staring at my boots."
Velurya did not speak at first.
She rose from her crouch slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze never left Yanwei.
There was no anger in her expression.
No outrage at the sudden attack.
Only stillness. And something else—
A shift.
Like recognition.
As if, for the first time, she had started to see him clearly.
"…So that's how you hunt," she murmured.
The words weren't taunting. They didn't flatter, either.
They simply noted him.
Filed him into the world she understood—now not as noise, but as a shape.
Her hand moved, graceful and unhurried.
From beneath her sleeve, a length of pale steel whispered into the night.
The sword gleamed—a long, elegant curve of blue-edged metal.
Not unlike a katana in form, but colder, sharper in aura.
Clean lines, thin profile, a faint shimmer that ran along its edge like moonlight trapped in a blade.
The moment it was unsheathed, the forest changed.
The wind stopped.
The night air, once thick and warm with summer haze, thinned—suddenly and without warning.
A sharp chill rippled outward, quiet but undeniable.
The leaves stilled.
The trees grew tense, as though the forest itself had paused to listen.
A fogless frost settled in the atmosphere.
Not ice.
Not snow.
But something colder than both.
The kind of cold that didn't belong to weather—
—but to memory.
The ground beneath her feet darkened slightly, a dampness forming in the stone, like breath suddenly pulled too far from heat.
Yanwei felt it.
Not a threat. Not yet.
But the pressure of something waking.
Velurya leveled her sword, holding it loosely at her side. She hadn't shifted her stance—not even slightly. No aggression, no defense. Just… readiness. The kind that didn't need telegraphing.
"You want me to face you like a predator," she said at last, her voice calm, nearly serene.
Her eyes met his.
Steady. Quiet. Unflinching.
"…Then bleed like prey."
Yanwei's smile returned—not the wide, reckless grin from before.
This one was quieter. Sharper.
The kind of smile a man wore when a piece of the puzzle fell exactly where he'd hoped it would.
"So that's your second talent, huh…"
His voice was low, unhurried.
Appreciative, almost.
He stepped lightly over the fallen leaves, circling half a pace—not to flank, but to observe her from a new angle. The cold didn't faze him.
His eyes didn't leave her blade.
"That explains it," he continued, as if speaking to himself. "That's why you can't coexist with that Tyr guy."
He said the name casually—too casually.
Like it was familiar. Like it wasn't sacred.
Velurya's eyes tightened.
Just a flicker.
A contraction of the pupils.
But it was there.
Small—yet unmistakable.
Like a ripple through still water, revealing how deep the lake truly ran.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Because Yanwei had seen enough.
The cold air around them seemed to still further, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
And in that silence, between the chill of her unsheathed talent and the name of a man she thought buried in shadow, one truth pulsed beneath her skin:
He knew more.
Too much more.
And somehow—
He wasn't done speaking.