A Fallen Soul

"How many days has it been?"

"I don't even know how many hours it's been."

Danadrian stopped walking for a moment to let her catch her breath. She leaned against his shoulder, trying to ignore the pain in her newly regrown muscles that threatened to split her in two.

"Five days make a week. Five weeks a month," she muttered. "It can't have been more than a week, right?"

"I don't even remember what day it was when we started." She stumbled forward a little further with his help. "And regardless, time feels meaningless here."

"Do you think the Talradians have entered behind us, then?"

She nodded, "No doubt about it. We can only hope that they get turned around trying to follow us. And even then, there are those among them who could track us, even here."

"How so?"

She shook her head, "They know more about us than any other Humans, almost as much as we do. Being a Hunter means understanding our mindset, the way we think, the way we act, and they'll have sent the best to tail us."

"Right."

He took a few steps forward, catching up immediately and even threatening to overtake her. "Want a lift? It took a lot out of you climbing up those stairs."

"I can keep going- for five more- minutes."

Even as she spoke, she felt her body betraying her.

"You shouldn't push yourself."

"Just let me be, I'm fine."

Her legs began to shake under her weight, and sweat was already running down her back. She was able to take four steps farther down the hallway before she was gripping the walls for support, and Danadrian had to lift her onto his back once more.

"Say one word and you'll regret it."

"You're making remarkable improvements, considering, however short a time it must have been since you weren't even able to support yourself. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"Who said I was beating myself up over it?" she grumbled. "I've gone through worse, trust me. And if my meals didn't consist of slime goop and tree roots, I could be running as fast as a horse by now."

"What could possibly be worse than this?"

She grunted, "Try losing a hand."

He paused for a second, and she saw his head slowly turn to look at her. "Is that something you can…?"

"As long as there's still a hand left, sure."

"I see. And regarding my cooking, you are more than welcome to try your hand at supper today." They turned another corner. "Again."

Bastard.

She tried in vain to lock away the memories of her ill-fated attempt at cooking two sleeps ago, which had resulted in many a burnt finger and their source of roots being set alight.

"We've been going down this path for a while now. You're sure that symbol meant this led to the place where they worshipped?"

"I don't seem to remember you arguing against it when we started." She poked his cheek. "And besides, you're the one leading us. If we made a wrong turn somewhere or perhaps didn't need to climb those stairs, it's on you."

"And you're saying we shouldn't have followed the steps taking us closer to the surface?" he grumbled. "Or would you rather we went down that passage?"

"… No, probably not."

Across from the stairs they'd taken had been another passage, this one far darker. Danadrian had claimed then, as he continued to now, that something had pulled at him and sent him into a cold sweat. He'd taken a few steps forward, only to back away immediately, his face pale. After that, he'd refused to elaborate, other than muttering that 'it was something… wrong.'

She hadn't laughed at him exactly… mostly just a chuckle followed by a snide remark. Nothing downright malicious, but that all vanished when the hallway was enveloped in total darkness, slime and all.

"The Abyss," he muttered.

"What was that?"

He twisted his gaze to meet hers, and she saw him hesitate for a moment. Then he continued.

"The Light. The Void. The Abyss-"

"-The three Absolutes. The Primordial Powers, yes, I know what they are. I told you I read."

He turned away. "Yes, well, think about it. We've seen whatever strange form of magic they use here conjure the Light to attack us, the Void to separate us, and in that corridor…"

"… You think that was Darkness, Abyssal Magic," she finished.

He nodded. "An ancient, lost civilisation deep beneath the earth, practising not one, but three of the most powerful magical spheres in Andwelm." He fumbled with the edge of his sword. "As well as the profane arts of blood magic. Blood magic and the Abyss. I'm not so sure that whoever these people were didn't deserve whatever happened to them."

Could've sworn he was admiring them a few days ago. It's an impressive turnaround from one added bit of information.

Well, she could hardly blame him. He was, or had been, a guardian and follower of the Light, with everything that entailed. That he responded to what was essentially his cosmic adversary was expected. What else could you expect? That the rabbit would welcome the wolf with open arms? Or that the sun would humour the moons, sharing its time in the sky?

And yet…

"What makes blood magic profane to you?"

"Huh?" He spun around, which did nothing while she was clutching his back. "Listen, I know that we disagree on… certain things, and I've overlooked and moved past the topic of your God and my… disagreements with his allegiances-"

She felt a vein twitch.

"-but are you seriously going to contest the ethics of blood magic?"

She bobbed her head side to side for a moment.

"Sure."

"Sure?"

She revelled in the shock in his voice and the wide-eyed look he gave her before clearing her throat.

"I'll defend it. Let me see what I remember. 'Blood magic, declared a dependant magic form, otherwise known as an art or sub-form-"

"-Of Evil Magic, itself an independent form of magic, yes, I know what it is. The stuff of curses, bindings, and chaining the natural in a way that is unnatural."

"Glad to see you remember something."

"What is your point?"

She poked his shoulder. "Now, I have a second question related to the first I'd like to ask you, if you'll humour me. Of the Seven Demon Houses I've told you about, how many can you remember?"

He paused at another set of steps that led up and out of sight. She didn't envy the climb and held on a bit tighter as he took another step forward.

"A few, House Elevar obviously, House Wrathius… Prydin? Why?"

"Because it may interest you to know that the sorcery of one of them, House Slothir, involves curses and bindings."

That made him stumble, and he immediately grabbed the side of the wall for support.

Okay, maybe throwing stuff like that at him in this current position wasn't the smartest move, especially if he was going to keep reacting like that.

"It isn't blood magic, and as far as I know, they don't even work the same way."

"How do you not know?"

She shrugged, "I've never encountered blood magic before, and Slothir are notoriously close-mouthed. But I do know that they use curses that can bind your very Soul." She added in a lower voice, "That much I think all the South-West knows now."

Danadrian didn't seem to have heard her. "Even so, blood magic requires… blood. It is a subset of Evil Magic, and I don't exactly remember a case of it being used for the good of others."

"Yes, because you can remember soooo much, can't you? I'm just saying, you write off quite a few things as 'Evil' or 'ruinous' without considering them beyond the scope of your perspective. You, my dear Angelica, let your bias get ahead of you."

"My bias?" He growled, "I expect the next thing you'll tell me is that I should be observing Abyssal Magic with a more open mind."

She knew that was the line with him that she shouldn't cross. Not to a Light-blinded man like him, but her mouth kept going.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt," she snapped back. "Maybe it would actually get us out of this place alive."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. If I were to invite the Darkness in, it would kill us."

"Because the Light has been so incredibly tame and helpful so far. We've almost been impaled countless times, Danadrian, and your ability to harness it is hardly consistent. Does that make it inherently evil?"

"The Light-"

"I swear to Slathir, Steraf, and every god that still walks Andwelm, if you preach to me about the good of the Light one more time, Lightbringer-"

He stumbled over the crest of the stairs and dumped her on the ground. She landed on her legs and stumbled into the wall, trying to steady herself while holding it for support.

Okay, that was too far.

Meanwhile, Danadrian kept marching forward a few more steps before coming to a stop, his form dimly illuminated by the light.

Without another word, he drew his sword and rammed it into the crumbling wall beside him, the blade pushing halfway up its length before he stopped.

His breaths were ragged, and not just because of the climb up. He stared at the sword, which he'd barely remembered drawing, then back at Alleria, who had slumped to the ground, silent.

He tried to get his thoughts in order, which was, if you looked at it one way, an easy feat, and in another, harder for him to do than most.

"What do you think the Light is, Alleria?"

She turned to him, "Do you want my honest answer, or the answer you want to hear?"

"Just-" he clenched his hand, "Your honest answer. Please."

"It's just a force, with all the morality and purpose as gravity or the sea or the shifting sands. There isn't anything 'good' about it in the same way there is nothing 'bad' about those who oppose it. It's perspective, nothing more."

"You're wrong. About me, I mean. I don't believe the Light is an aware, moral paragon in the same way a knight or saint is. Maybe when I first… with what memories I had, that's what I might have thought, but I know better. There is no goodness at the centre of the Light; it becomes good because of what it pushes others to do, and people to become. When you walk under it, you are lifted up and inspired to be more than you already are. That is what the Light means to me."

Alleria hoisted herself off the ground and staggered forward. She met his gaze.

"And those who walk in Darkness? Who tread the edges of the Void? What do you think they would say about your precious Light? And who is to say that they wouldn't give the same reasons you have for their reverence?"

She stumbled past him, holding herself up despite it all while leaning against the wall. When he opened his mouth to respond, he found that his voice wouldn't work, even as a dozen arguments for his position flooded his brain.

. . .

That wasn't necessary.

She kept stumbling forward, using whatever innate strength she could find to keep herself upright, with aid from the walls and roots around her. Rather that, then ask Danadrian to carry her, not now. He'd overtaken her again without so much as glancing her way, and while she stayed within range of his Anti-Mana radius, they were both silent.

Poking fun at him was one thing, challenging his beliefs another. Insinuating the worst of them was a step too far, even for her.

And yet… and yet when he preached the goodness that came from the Light, while at the same time spreading deriding opinions on those who believed the contrary, it poked at the part of her that disagreed just for that reason alone.

She tried to calm herself, but her heart continued to race, in large part from the effort she was having to put in just to keep walking forward, each step followed by a fight for the next. And when every now and then her free arm would trail down to her waist-

She retracted it immediately and tried to avoid thinking about the blade. There was enough on her mind.

In any other situation, she'd likely have gone off by herself, giving Danadrian as well as herself some time away from each other to improve their moods. Of course, that wasn't a possibility here, which likely didn't help their case to begin with.

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He never seemed like a people person to begin with. He might not have even realised that himself.

She should apologise. No, she would apologise. Just when she was certain she could be sincere about it.

It could have been hours of walking or even just a few minutes; it felt the same for her. Her legs and muscles screamed at her constantly, demanding the rest that she was refusing them. At a certain point, she stopped being aware of anything at all and just focused on walking.

One step forward. Then another. Then another.

Arguments aside, she'd begun hoping every minute that Danadrian would stop for a breather or at least slow down, but he didn't so much as stumble. It was a battle between her pride and indignation versus his stamina, and the more time passed, the more she began to realise she was fighting a losing battle.

She was just about to open her mouth to ask for a break, pride be damned, when he came to an abrupt stop in front of her.

"What are you, whoa-" Her momentum almost threw her into his back.

"There is something up ahead."

She looked over his shoulder. Bright light, at least, bright for down here, shone out from around the bend, the corridor they'd been following had decided to take. It was far from sunlight, but without a doubt more intense than any slime they'd come across so far.

It was bright enough to make her blink and cover her eyes until they adjusted, which likewise meant she couldn't see the expression on her companion's face. He was silent for a moment before he continued walking. "Let's go."

One second, she was walking through the now-familiar corridors; the next, the room around her had opened up into a vast chamber. She almost thought it was a cave, but then her eyes began to adjust, and she began spotting great stone pillars in the corners, carvings snaking up the walls, and in the ceiling's centre a cracked dome. It must have been as large as- no, even larger than any Ritual Palace she'd seen, or even the Great Sept back home. She squinted up at the source of the light within the radius of that massive dome, and what she saw made her jaw drop.

It wasn't sunlight; they probably weren't close enough to the surface yet, even though she knew they had to be close-

There's no world where we survived a fall deeper than that.

-instead, the light came from perhaps the largest crystal she'd ever seen. Definitely larger than either of them, even combined. It shone like a miniature sun in the darkness of the dungeon, and after so many days without, it lifted her spirits somewhat.

She was immediately wary of any traps that might've been placed here, and so kept close to Danadrian, who was wandering along the edge of the room. The further along they went, the easier it was to notice the slight elevation in the floor, slowly rising before leaping up sharply near the centre-back.

Danadrian, though, was running his hands over carvings along the wall. Just like the ones they'd been seeing for days now, except these were preserved in the best condition so far. It was easier to tell what they were trying to show them or represent, even more so than the directions that had led them here. The only problem was that once you knew what was being shown to you, you still had no idea what it meant.

Cool, they'd etched an image of a nine-headed snake onto stone. But what did that even mean? Was it an allegory? A metaphor or myth that had lost all context? Or, and this was the most alarming option, had there actually been a nine-headed snake down here?

That sent shivers down her spine, but Danadrian kept walking in silence, following the carvings with his hand until he paused and turned back. He was running his hand over one of the etchings whilst the other fumbled with something. His shadow covered what it was he'd found, so she edged around him to get a closer look.

It was his brooch, the same little pendant she'd seen him holding onto like it was his lifeline before, the symbol of Mayare and the Church of the Light, as far as she knew.

Which was why it made her pause and stare in the same way he was, to see the same symbol engraved onto the ancient stone wall before them.

"That's not… it can't be…"

"The symbol of Mayare. I assumed it to be a creation of the Church of the Light, or at least one they had taken as their own, but…" he placed his brooch against the stone wall. They were nearly the same size, too. "My assumptions were incorrect, it seems."

"But if it's down here, it means they must have worshipped her, or at the very least revered her."

He nodded. "So it would seem. But it doesn't make sense if…" He turned from the wall, and his gaze trailed off behind her, to the back of the room. His eyes narrowed.

He marched off in its direction, so naturally she was forced to stumble after him. The adrenaline rush of discovering this room was starting to wear off, and once again her legs were shaking from the effort of keeping her upright. But… she hadn't seen Danadrian being this intent on anything before.

He climbed the nearly-destroyed set of stairs that led up to the landing so quickly that parts of the stone clattered to the ground, sending dust and shards of it everywhere. She ran after him, though taking the climb in a much slower and more deliberate manner. When she eventually reached the top, he was once again standing still and staring ahead.

Three statues, roughly twice the height of a normal man, cast an ominous visage against the beaming light from above. Chipped away at the corners, chunks missing, and with vines latched onto them, much of who they might have been was lost, at least on first appearance.

The statue to her left was slouched and hooded, and of the three, it had lost the most of its features, or anything that might have made it distinct. The only part that remained was a tome held between its arms.

To the right was the tallest, or at least the one least affected by the wear of ages. Relatively speaking. They held a thin walking stick in one hand, the top of which had been fully engulfed by greenery.

Finally, the last stood ahead of them, and she could tell that it was a man, or at least of masculine nature. His figure stood proudly, and more than that, his appearance simply screamed that of a warrior. Broad shoulders, a firm stature, and tough arms. On his back was the familiar shape of a greatsword. Most curious, though, was the way it was damaged. Across his chest was a strike, and if it weren't stone, she'd even think it was a… slash from another blade.

"What on Andwelm…" She scooted around Danadrian. "Got any idea what these are?"

When he didn't respond, she stooped down to get a better look at the bases of the statues.

"Looks like there's writing here." Etched in the same circular alphabet or whatever it was that they'd been seeing for days. Except this time there was something else, written in smaller text beneath it. "Wait. I recognise this, this is Athniuthian."

She looked up, but Danadrian remained silent. His head was slowly turning from statue to statue, and his eyes looked… distant. She looked back down. "Let me see if I can remember, damn, I wish I could them properly right about now."

She ran her fingers over the text beneath the hooded statue. "Vi- Viven- Vivendiass, Lord of Nothing."

On the other side, beneath the figure with the walking stick. "Yserama, I think? Lady of Life."

And then under the last one, with the slash across his chest. "And then this would be… Dassmurath, the-" she frowned, "-the Destroyer?"

A shing ran through the air. When she spun around, Danadrian had drawn his sword, levelling at the statue. His eyes were wide.

"Hey, what are you-"

His arms were shaking. "Get away from it."

When she just stared up at him, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back as he advanced on the statue. She stumbled and pulled herself back up. "Danadrian, it's just a statue, have you taken complete leave of your-"

"Dassmurath. Destroyer. The Dark One. God of Darkness." His voice choked. "Frandwil."

She grabbed his arm. His face was sweaty, and his wide eyes were darting around. "It's just a statue, Danadrian. Just a statue."

"I- I-" His breathing was becoming ragged. He was panting.

She reached forward and carefully pulled the sword from his grasp. Then he turned and collapsed on the floor, hand over his chest… no, hand over the brooch he carried.

"You're hyperventilating, just calm down. Slow breaths. In and out."

"It's him. I- I can feel him, gripping my Soul. Watching from the shadows. Darkness."

"That's not possible-"

"Watching, I can feel him."

"Hey, hey-" she grabbed his head and forced him to meet her eyes, "It's just me, Danadrian. Nobody else. Just relax."

He was sweating buckets, but he slowly stopped shaking, and his mutters grew quieter and quieter. A minute or two later and he blinked, his eyes finally seeing her in front of him instead of whatever else they'd been gazing at. Shakily, he brought a hand up.

"Alleria?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. You alright there, Danadrian?"

He looked down at his hand, then the rest of his body.

"I mean, there-" she touched his temple with her finger. "Why is it you've never mentioned that you could have had these… outbursts before?"

He turned his head away from her. "I must've brought it up before. Maybe to Velandus. I… It's not something I can explain."

"So it has happened before?"

"Inexplicably, without rhyme or reason, except this time." His head twitched to the side, as if to look back towards the statue again. "This time it was different. I swore that I felt the touch of the Abyss over me. The Dark God…"

"Well, I honestly should have expected that you, of all people suffer from intermittent panic attacks." She pulled herself away from him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Panic attacks usually don't have a reason that's easy to pinpoint. And as an amnesiac, your body and mind are already stuck together like a badly nailed piece of wood."

He rose. "Do you know anything else?"

"I-" she caught herself and looked away from him, "-no, I only know about it in a general sense."

It would be best if we end this line of inquiry.

That would be for the best, but the nagging pull at the back of her mind forced her mouth open once more. "How many times has it happened?"

He paused to think about it. "Twice, maybe three times. There have been more instances where I managed to… deal with it before it became a problem."

"And excluding now, can you remember any reasons or what your state of mind was like when they occurred?"

"Twice I was surrounded by people, trapped between jostling bodies impeding me. But my thoughts… were always dark, touching on questions about myself I wish I never had to utter."

"Because you didn't know the answers to them?" she turned to look at him, "Or because you did?"

He didn't answer.

. . .

Danadrian stayed quiet for a long time after that. Her legs finally lost whatever strength or adrenaline had been keeping them up, so she decided that they'd make camp there for the night. Out of consideration for him, she set herself up in the farthest corner of the room, out of sight of the statues.

At some point while she was resting, Danadrian wandered off to take a look down the corridors, splitting off from this room-

Well, room was a disservice. This hall.

-eventually coming back with a filled waterskin and some ingredients to make his patented slime-soup. He'd probably found another basin like the one before, so she kept quiet about it as he gathered roots and stones and started a small fire for them. She welcomed the warmth it brought, as well as the hole in her stomach; the soup tried its best to mend. She held back comments on the taste.

At some point, she must have passed out, because all she remembered was stirring awake again, feeling warmth touching his face and a bright light peeking through her eyelids. The sun rising in the eastern sky? The warmth of the hearth and the soft touch of… rock.

Opening her eyes to see the welcome, yet artificial light of the crystals above and the dwindling heat of the fire made a part of her want to crawl into a ball again. Forever, this time. After she did just that for at least a few more hours, she found cold soup left for her to drink.

Soup, soup, soup, roots, slime, soup. Every time she drank it, she felt less and less satisfied. At this point, she'd go for any meat or creature they could kill and cook, not that they'd come across so much as a rat down here.

The next time she woke, Danadrian was gone again, and she began to wonder if he slept, and if so, when, since he'd decided to keep watch over her whenever she did.

Looking around the room, she found he was standing near its centre, the flattest part, though parts of it were covered in debris. It seemed that he'd deemed it safe, however, because he was swinging his sword about in what she approximated to be stances or exercises of some sort.

"Practising?"

"Yes." He didn't even pause.

"I thought you said it came to you naturally. Why then would you benefit from practice?"

"Small bits of it have been coming back to me, slowly. And it's all about muscle memory. I need my body to become more and more used to the motions and the techniques." He rested his arms, wiping away the sweat accumulating on his brow.

"And it helps distract you."

He threw her a 'look' but didn't outright disagree with her. "You should join me. We never did get into more training for you."

Her body locked up. "I… don't think that would be wise. I've only got one sword with me now and…" she trailed off.

"I understand you're hesitant to use it, but from what I've seen, you have some basic training in swordplay, am I right?"

"…I do."

"Well, that training would work best for the sword you have at your waist and refuse to use. I doubt we're going to be finding any others down here, and the Light only knows where we'll pop out of when we do find the exit, so unless you plan on fist-fighting the next Demon Hunter we come across…"

She didn't answer him; her mind was overflowing with thoughts, distractions, and hesitation. Some of which he seemed to have noticed because after a few more seconds of silence, he sighed.

"You can use mine as a start, while you get your strength back. Don't worry, it's light."

He definitely isn't going to leave this well enough alone.

She stepped up beside him and took the sword from his hands. She'd noticed it before, but it really was light, far lighter than it should have been given its size, and definitely too light for the force and weight behind its swings.

"It has to have something to do with the ore," she muttered.

"I've come to the same conclusion. Inconceivably light and able to repel mana. Part of me can't help but think of it as, paradoxically, magical, even if it is the very antithesis of the word." He cleared his throat, "Right then, shall we begin?"

He had her going through basic drills and stances; they weren't exactly able to spar with only one sword between the two of them, and Danadrian rightly pointed out that they should continue to conserve energy and avoid possible accidents. Which was all well and good to say, but barely an hour had passed before she was panting and demanding a break or at least a brief respite to drink some water.

"A few minutes then, to catch your breath. I need to think about what you should focus on next."

Oh yes, very easy for him to say, when he was standing there, uninjured and unburdened by the effort needed to swing a chunk of metal for an hour, even a light one like this. Her legs were killing her.

Swipe, thrust, slash. He was trying to get her to attack in tune with her speed more, speed that she was still trying to recover, making each exercise a trial for her to overcome. And even while she did it, he was talking, sometimes to himself, making mental notes or correcting mistakes in his wording, and other times directly to her, giving tips and tricks he thought might help, as well as feedback.

"Lean more into that one, just like- yes, just like that. Good."

"Perfectly done, but you should focus more on your legwork in that case."

"The sword's a bit bigger than what you usually use, so you're going to have to use your imagination for this one."

She was getting used to them and had long since stopped breaking her concentration to listen. Which, it seemed, was exactly what he'd been waiting for.

"Who taught you the basics of swordplay?"

"My father," she grunted and swung the blade in an arc again. "He taught my brother and me both."

"So you have a brother?"

"That's right-" Her last swung went wide; if he dodged a second later, he might have lost his hand. What she'd said finally caught up with her. She stared at him.

"I thought so," he nodded. "Even if you rely on your sorcery, that could not account for how well you adapt to instructions, and your knowledge of the basics. Learning it from a young age, and from your family, that makes more sense."

"My family is none of your business." She took a step forward, trying to rein in her emotions. Unsuccessfully. "Much less my father."

He calmly met her gaze. "That is a common refrain of yours, isn't it?"

"Don't take my words idly, Lightbringer." She thrust the sword into his arms.

"A father gifted with the sword, though I take it you were never as interested in it as he might've hoped." Slowly, but surely, his eyes trailed down from her to the sheath at her waist, where the sword that she refused to leave her sight was held. "Oh. That's his, isn't it?"

She didn't humour him with an answer.

"Right, none of my business. But we're companions, aren't we? I'd like to know more about you, save what little you've revealed to me. I would certainly be at ease to know the mind of the woman guarding my back."

She began turning away. "I'm sure it would."

"You know all there is to know about me, so I would consider it more than fair if you did the same."

"That's because there's nothing to know about you once you scrape the surface."

"Why do you keep running away?"

She'd almost made it away from him before he uttered those words, those same words to her once more.

Her body spun right back around, and in that momentary lapse of her temper, the sliding sound of a blade leaving its sheath filled the air. Her hands lifted the glowing blade into the air. Her heart was pumping again, for more reasons than just exercise and the rush of adrenaline. And Danadrian?

The Fallen Angelica smiled as he raised his own. "Both hands, straighten the blade. Good." His eyes glimmered, "Good."

Then he was upon her, sword swinging in an arc. She blocked it, then knocked it aside, which left him open for-

He brought his sword back down faster than she'd thought possible. It struck against her blade with a clang, and this time she felt some sort of… resistance when he separated. Like some sort of stickiness or attraction between the blades made it just slightly more difficult to part them.

His attacks came in an onslaught of blows; each time she blocked the next had more power behind it, more force and intent to strike a hit.

He's testing our strength, how far he can go.

Which meant he was holding back.

She thrust forward, closing the distance between them and knocking his sword to the side. Then she raised hers up to attempt a slash down while his sword arm was occupied.

No- wait. That would kill him.

She hesitated.

His arm came back and smashed the hilt into her hand. She cried out as the sword flew into the air, her eyes following it. Following it and missing the way his legs were moving. Swiping-

They hit her shins and her legs, still raw and weakened, which collapsed instantly, sending her straight to the ground, face-first. She landed with her hands able to cover her face just in time, whilst her sword clattered to the ground. Danadrian let out a slow breath as she coughed.

"Fast… you're faster, maybe even faster than I am."

Wait… how many seconds was that? It couldn't have been more than…

A few? Less than a minute? That was fast.

"You hesitated. Why?"

She pulled herself off the ground and scrambled to pick up the sword. Naturally, it was completely undamaged. "Because I didn't want to kill you."

She'd half expected he would respond to it as so many would, in his situation. Laugh it off or deny her claims. Instead, he surprised her once more and nodded with a serious look.

"I appreciate it. And in turn, I hope you'll accept my apology for holding back."

"I expected nothing less. If my legs were injured once again, I doubt either of us would've been happy."

He nodded and attempted a smile, but halfway along the line it faltered, and he looked askance. "I also hope you will forgive me for… pushing your buttons, so to speak."

In the heat and rush of their exchange, she'd almost forgotten what had led to it. Almost. She gripped her fingers. "You had your reasons; let us leave at that. Unless you'd like to risk sparring with me once again." It wasn't a question, but when he didn't answer her, she turned to leave.

She was surprised. Pushing her to strike him was one thing, but she honestly hadn't expected Danadrian to have it in him to be petty. But after she'd poked and prodded at his beliefs, it was almost relieving to see him push back in some way, even if it had gone deeper into her than she might have wanted.

There might actually be a man behind the Angelica.