The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Dust hung in the air where boots had scuffed the path raw, sunlight slicing through it in pale, slanted beams. No birds sang now. Even the wind felt hesitant, brushing leaves together as if unsure whether it was allowed to make noise.
Tomora and Connor stood close—too close. The space between them was charged, invisible pressure stretching thin like glass about to shatter. Everyone else hovered at the edges of the path, a loose circle of witnesses who hadn't agreed to be part of this but couldn't look away.
Patricia leaned back on her heels, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her mouth.
"Wait, let's see what happens might be fun"
Tala's shoulders tightened instantly. Her gaze flicked between the two boys, worry etching itself across her face.
"But…Tomora is an ancestral awekened(water)isn't he"
Patricia's smile sharpened, confidence radiating off her like heat.
"If Tomora's winning, we stop the fight. Simple."
Connor heard them, but they felt distant, like voices underwater. His chest rose and fell slowly as he inhaled, the scent of dirt and crushed leaves filling his lungs. He wasn't angry—not in the way people expected anger to look. It sat lower than that, heavy and quiet, like a door bolted shut from the inside.
He lifted his hands slightly, palms open, a reflex older than thought.
"I'm not gonna fight—"
The sentence never finished.
Tomora moved.
There was no warning, no wind-up. One moment he was standing there, weight balanced, the next his fist was driving forward with vicious precision. It slammed into Connor's gut with a dull, wet sound that echoed far louder than it should have.
Connor's body folded around the impact.
Air ripped from his lungs in a sharp, silent gasp. His boots dragged against the dirt as he staggered forward, one hand instinctively clutching his stomach. His vision sparked white at the edges, knees threatening to give way as the world tilted sideways.
Tomora straightened, already grinning, already victorious in his own mind.
"Then don't say stupid things."
The sound of it snapped the forest back to life.
Someone gasped. Someone else stumbled backward. Tala surged forward without thinking, feet pounding against the path as fear overtook caution.
Connor sucked in a ragged breath. It burned. His stomach felt like it had caved inward, pain radiating outward in sharp, echoing waves. He forced himself to stay upright, teeth clenched hard enough that his jaw ached.
Tomora watched him, head tilted, that same infuriating smirk still carved into his face. The look wasn't cruel—not exactly. It was curious. Testing.
Connor straightened slowly.
The pain didn't vanish. It sharpened him.
His eyes lifted, dark and focused now, locking onto Tomora with a clarity that hadn't been there before. The world narrowed. The path, the trees, the onlookers—all of it faded until there was only distance and timing and the way Tomora's weight leaned just a fraction too far forward.
Connor shifted.
His body moved before his thoughts could interfere. He dipped slightly, rolling with the lingering ache, and then drove upward with everything he had left. His fist rose in a tight arc, knuckles snapping into Tomora's chin with a crack that turned heads.
Tomora's head whipped back.
The sound of his breath leaving him was sharp and broken. His boots scraped wildly against the dirt as he stumbled backward, arms flailing for balance that wasn't there. Shock flickered across his face first—pure, unfiltered disbelief—followed quickly by pain.
The group reacted as one.
Gasps tore through the clearing. Someone sucked in a breath too loudly. Someone else stepped back, hand flying to their mouth. Even Patricia's grin faltered, her eyes widening just a touch.
Connor stood there, chest heaving, fist still clenched.
"Don't underestimate me."
The words came out rough, dragged up from somewhere deep and dangerous. They weren't shouted. They didn't need to be.
Tomora blinked hard, once, twice, jaw tightening as he steadied himself. His feet planted again, muscles tensing beneath his skin as he regained control over his balance—and himself.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Sweat slid down Connor's spine despite the cool shade. His stomach still screamed in protest, but he welcomed it. Pain kept him present. Pain kept the memories at bay.
Tomora rolled his shoulders, eyes never leaving Connor's face. The smirk didn't return this time. What replaced it was quieter. Sharper. Something measuring.
Around them, the forest exhaled.
Leaves rustled. A bird somewhere dared to chirp. Dust settled back onto the path, softening the scars left by boots and impact.
Tala stood frozen a few steps away, hands clenched at her sides, heart hammering so hard she was sure everyone could hear it. Jer's jaw was set, eyes flicking between the two boys, already calculating how fast she could move if this tipped any further out of control.
Patricia straightened slowly, amusement gone now, replaced by interest.
Connor lowered his fist, shoulders still tight, gaze unbroken. He hadn't wanted this. That truth sat heavy in his chest. But now that it was here—now that lines had been crossed—he wasn't going to pretend he couldn't cross them too.
Tomora wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, testing his jaw with a small, careful movement. His eyes flicked briefly to the dirt, to the faint disturbance beneath Connor's feet, and then back up again.
The space between them felt different now.
Not playful. Not teasing.
Honest.
Whatever came next, it wouldn't be an accident.