Magnus Vaelor dodged between the blades.
He felt them before they came. The sword Varek swung was thick with sorrow, an ancient weapon fused with some dying will. Kael's strikes, sharper, more desperate, always laced with rebellion. Neither were enough. Not yet.
His boots grazed the rubble as he ducked low, shards whistling past his face, summoned and dismissed with a mere thought. His mind was the battlefield. His body was secondary.
He pivoted on one heel, catching Varek's blow with a half-formed shard blade in his left hand, then shoved him back with an explosion of force from the same weapon as it unraveled mid-impact.
They think you're human, his shard whispered.
He knew better.
Kael appeared behind him, fast, silent. Magnus didn't look. He turned slightly, tilting his chin, and let the whistling of Kael's blade fill in the rest.
