The purple tempest no longer attacked at random.
It organized itself.
The arcs of dissonance tightened around Diala, their paths shortening, correcting, learning. Where the air bent, Nyama did not scatter. It vanished before it could even respond. The ground did not explode. It was simply missing, as if pieces of the world had been removed rather than broken.
Nar'so advanced slowly.
Not to press his advantage.To observe.
Diala's breathing was uneven. Each inhale felt like pulling in cold emptiness, something that resisted entering her body. Her spear trembled in her grip, saturated with countless micro-impacts she had failed to deflect completely. Behind her, the golden gazelle remained present, but tense, struggling to keep its form.
"You keep imposing your rhythm," Nar'so said calmly."Even wounded. Even surrounded."
A purple arc cut through the air.
Diala threw herself aside. The attack passed centimeters from her shoulder, erasing an entire strip of terrain behind her. She rolled, rose instantly, but her foot slipped where the ground should have been.
She stopped.
Not from fear.From understanding.
It wasn't speed.
It was timing.
Nar'so raised his hand.
The arcs changed direction, bending toward her as if pulled by an internal logic. Diala clenched her teeth and did not retreat.
She stepped sideways.
Just one step.
The arc passed in front of her.
A second followed, too late.
Diala moved differently now. She did not attack when an opening appeared. She moved before the opening truly existed, within the infinitesimal delay between two beats of the world. The instant where Nyama still hesitated before answering dissonance.
Nar'so stopped.
His gaze tracked every movement.
"…You changed," he observed.
Diala slid beneath another purple arc, brushing the ground without striking it, her spear grazing the earth without committing. She was already rising behind the trajectory, striking where Nar'so had just withdrawn.
The spear tip grazed his side.
Purple burst out, denser, slower.
Nar'so stepped back.
A real step.
On the Terrace of Roots, Sirani lifted her head sharply.
"She isn't dodging," she murmured."She's passing through."
Around her, her squad held JARA with everything they had left. The Root Network vibrated violently beneath their feet, contested at every pulse by Nar'so's dissonance. But something had shifted at the front.
Inside the Hall of the Great Tree, Kani Sira's falcons adjusted their flight.
"Her movement isn't linear," she said."It's not based on attack trajectories. It's… interstitial."
Famory allowed himself a brief smile.
"She stopped trying to win," he said quietly."She's hunting."
On the plain, Nar'so unleashed another wave.
The arcs crossed, folded, forming a near-perfect cage of dissonance, a trap designed to erase any path of escape.
Diala inhaled slowly.
Then she moved.
Not faster.Not stronger.
She struck between two beats.
Where the tempest had to fold back on itself to remain stable. Where dissonance needed an instant to redeploy.
Her body slid. Her spear traced a low, precise curve without forcing anything. The golden gazelle followed, not as a burst of power, but as a faithful shadow, mirroring the exact same movement.
The attack passed.
The arcs closed… on emptiness.
Diala was already elsewhere.
She struck.
This time, the spear sank into Nar'so's shoulder.
A sharp impact.A real collision.
Nar'so staggered back two steps and dropped to one knee.
Silence fell.
Even the purple tempest hesitated for a fraction of a second.
At the front line, several Donso froze, disbelief written across their faces.
On the Terrace of Roots, one hunter whispered,"…That's a hunting step."
Sirani closed her eyes.
"Yes," she said softly."The Gazelle's Step."
Nar'so rose slowly.
His breathing was no longer perfectly stable. The fissure at his shoulder refused to close completely. He studied Diala without anger.
"You are no longer trying to correct the world," he said."You accept its delay."
Diala spat a thin line of blood and tightened her grip.
"Gazelles never force the plain," she replied."They survive because they know when not to resist."
Nar'so inclined his head slightly.
"Interesting."
His aura changed.
The purple tempest contracted, less expansive, denser. The arcs stopped dominating space and drew closer to his body, reinforcing each movement, each strike.
"Then dance," he said simply.
He vanished.
Not acceleration.Erasure.
Diala pivoted on instinct, raising her spear just in time to block an arc striking from the side. The impact sent her sliding backward, forcing her into a roll. She rose immediately despite the pain tearing through her arm.
Nar'so reappeared before her, too close.
He struck.
Diala used the Gazelle's Step again.
She passed beneath the attack, brushing the void left by dissonance. But this time… too late.
The purple wave caught her shoulder.
She was thrown to the ground, skidding several meters. The gazelle flickered violently, its light dimming.
Nar'so stopped.
"You cannot dance like this forever," he said."Your body is failing."
Diala pushed herself to her knees, breathing hard.
"I know."
She rose slowly, spear steady.
"But you exist now."
Nar'so did not answer.
Yet his stance had shifted.
The purple tempest and the golden gazelle faced each other. One sought to erase. The other to pass through.
Inside the Hall of the Great Tree, Djata leaned closer to the sphere.
He frowned.
"She isn't fighting him," he said quietly."She's slipping between him."
No one corrected him.
Because it was true.
He watched the rhythm, the pauses, the way Diala moved where the world hesitated instead of where it broke.
If it were me out there… would I even survive the first exchange?
The thought stayed.
It did not crush him.
It rooted itself.
At his side, Vespera stirred faintly.
Not a voice.A pressure.
An old awareness brushing his thoughts.
What he is… refuses the beat.But even absence leaves an interval.
Djata did not respond.
He listened.
He remembered.
On the Terrace of Roots, Sirani staggered.
JARA shook violently, its pulses tearing through her muscles.
"Hold," she ordered through clenched teeth."Just a few more beats."
Her squad obeyed without question.
They were bleeding Nyama.
But they were still standing.
Nar'so moved again.
This time, his attacks were tighter, closer. He had abandoned spatial dominance to reinforce his own body.
Diala met him.
Blow for blow.
Each contact drained her. Each near-miss hollowed her breath.
But she remained.
She slipped.She passed.She endured.
Purple and gold collided again and again, neither yielding.
The wind shifted.
The dance continued.
And neither side had reached its end.