⚔️ **CHAPTER 62 — The Ambush of Shadows**
The forest was darker than usual, though it was still early. Mist clung to the trees like smoke, and every snap of a branch echoed unnaturally.
Kael's body screamed. Hunger gnawed deep, muscles burned, and his breath came ragged. But there was something new—something Veyrath had helped him discover in the last desperate hours.
*Balance.*
It wasn't Iron Mind. Not yet. Not fully.
It was a skill he barely understood, barely controlled: **Centering**.
Kael could now **thread his awareness through both body and mind at the same time**, keeping each from betraying the other. Not perfect. Not powerful. Average. Enough to prevent collapse, enough to let him act deliberately under pressure.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the ache in his legs, counting the rhythm of his heart. *Centering* anchored each thought to a physical point—his hand in the dirt, the weight of his foot, the alignment of his spine.
That awareness was the difference between **stumbling blindly** and **stepping strategically**.
Veyrath moved ahead, silent and cold, while Caelin scanned the treeline, sword half-raised. Mireya adjusted her shield. Tomas melted into shadows, watching.
Then it happened.
A sharp crack to the left. A flash of movement too fast for the eye.
The Council had chosen to stop observing—they were committing now.
Four agents—silent, precise, weapons drawn—stepped from the trees.
Kael felt the pressure, the calculated intent.
Centering activated instinctively. His body reacted to weight, tilt, and momentum, while his mind filtered what was real and what was meant to deceive. Not a shield. Not a weapon. Just **a balance point**.
He staggered slightly but did not fall.
The first Council agent lunged. Kael sidestepped with measured precision, letting the strike pass harmlessly.
"Keep moving!" Veyrath shouted, striking one agent with a short, brutal sweep.
Caelin blocked another, pushing an attacker backward into a tree.
Mireya's shield clanged, deflecting a third blow while Tomas threw a dagger that clipped the fourth's shoulder.
Kael's legs burned. Hunger clawed. Sweat stung his eyes.
But Centering held.
Not perfect. Not fast. Not overwhelming. Just… enough.
He twisted mid-step, tripping one agent slightly, letting Veyrath's kick finish the move.
For the first time, Kael understood the real value of his new skill: it didn't make him strong. It didn't make him unbreakable.
It let him **survive while thinking clearly**.
The fight lasted minutes but felt like hours. Every step, every swing, every dodge was **a negotiation between body and mind**. Kael felt exhaustion clawing from both directions, but he kept the thread intact.
When the last agent fell—retreating, but not dead—Kael sank to one knee, leaning on Caelin for support.
"You're… different," Caelin said, breathless. "Not stronger. But… steadier."
Kael nodded, chest heaving. "I can't fight like a machine. But I can… *not collapse*."
Veyrath looked at him with a faint smirk. "Average is enough. For now."
Tomas exhaled sharply. "You survived what could have killed us all."
Mireya wiped rain from her eyes. "And you're still standing."
Kael allowed himself a small, shaky smile. *Centering* hadn't made him invincible. It hadn't even made him fast. But it had given him **control over the one thing that mattered most—himself**.
And that control, fragile as it was, would be the only weapon he needed in the chaos the Council would unleash next.
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