"This one," Celestine continued, sliding a parchment closer and tapping it with her finger, "was meant to be clever."
The sketch depicted a massive war hammer, its head layered with dense sigils and dimensional anchors etched so deeply they looked less carved than grown. The design notes were cramped and hurried.
"Tried to lock opponents into fixed coordinates," she said. "Prevented them from escaping through spatial manipulation. Against other spatial fighters, it was devastating. They couldn't blink away. Couldn't fold space. Couldn't disengage."
Bright followed the lines with his eyes, already seeing the flaw before she named it.
"Against anyone else?" he asked.
Celestine snorted softly. "Useless. Conventional combatants don't teleport. You anchor them, and nothing changes. Over-specialized to the point of self-sabotage. Failed in ninety percent of recorded engagements."
