Vetra's read on Soren began to degrade.
Her head darted back and forth, confused by the sudden loss of visual data.
But the cost to Eris was immediate.
Every small flame was a hammer blow to her chest. She could feel the cracks on her collarbone widening, the heat of the seal threatening to spill out and consume her.
Each flick of her wrist was a price paid in her own life's blood, but she didn't stop.
Fight better, Soren, she thought, her vision blurring. Make it worth it.
The exchange continued. It was an extended, grueling dance of shifting weights and desperate parries. Neither was winning.
Even with his divine ascension, Soren was fighting a woman who had forgotten more about combat than most men ever learned.
They were evenly matched in technique, two masters of the same school trying to out-think the other's architecture.
Then, Vetra realized the mirrors were gone. She sensed the change in the air, the way Soren was suddenly landing hits she hadn't predicted.
