The sun barely cleared the ridge as the Hollow Eight appeared in the distance. Their movements were deliberate, measured, like predators testing the wind. Aerin's pulse quickened, fingers brushing the stone beneath his boots. He could feel the subtle pull of their influence—the land bending slightly under their presence.
Ryn's daggers gleamed faintly in the morning light. "They've decided to test you directly," he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp. Aerin nodded, taking a deep breath. Every step forward now was deliberate, every motion a negotiation with both terrain and enemy. He adjusted the resonance underfoot, spreading influence sideways, preparing for the first wave.
Figures moved toward them—eight in total, coordinated perfectly. Weapons drawn, expressions unreadable, but intent clear. The Hollow Eight weren't reckless. One misstep could leave Aerin or the travelers crushed under collapsing terrain. He clenched his fist. [Synchronization: 0.24%] The number flashed briefly in his mind. Small, but growing. Enough to influence, enough to react.
The first pair lunged. Aerin moved instinctively, redirecting the pressure beneath their feet. Their footing faltered, blades slicing air. Ryn flowed alongside him, twin daggers flashing, disarming and destabilizing rather than harming. The clash wasn't chaotic—it was a test, a high-speed negotiation of balance and reaction.
Another attack came from the flank. Aerin's hands pressed the ground, creating a slight shift in resonance. The attacker stumbled as if the path itself betrayed him. He felt a surge of adrenaline. [Synchronization: 0.27%] Small, but noticeable. He wasn't strong, but the world bent slightly at his will, responding to calculated movements.
Ryn blocked a swing, then rolled to the side, keeping his footing despite uneven stones. "Focus on movement, not strength," he reminded quietly. Aerin absorbed it instantly, adjusting his stance and the land beneath them. Every second counted. The Hollow Eight adapted quickly, but the duo moved more efficiently, relying on anticipation rather than brute force.
One of the Hollow Eight members tried a sudden push to separate them. The ground shifted unexpectedly, a stone snapping under pressure. The attacker lost balance, stumbling into another. Aerin pressed his hand briefly, guiding the chain reaction, not hurting anyone—just manipulating spacing and flow. He noticed the faint acknowledgement from the system. [Synchronization: 0.31%]
By midday, the first wave had passed, and both sides paused. Hollow Eight studied him silently, eyes calculating. Vael's presence felt almost tangible, a shadow of strategy radiating through the land. Aerin wiped sweat from his brow, heart racing. They weren't defeated—they never would be—but he had held ground, altered the battlefield subtly, and survived.
Ryn's gaze met his. "They'll escalate next," he said. Aerin nodded. He could feel the rhythm of the road beneath him, the way resonance pulsed faintly after every movement. Each clash, each redirection, wasn't just survival—it was growth. [Synchronization: 0.36%]
The Hollow Eight regrouped, movements sharper now. Aerin and Ryn readied themselves. The battle was far from over, but for the first time, Aerin sensed that he wasn't merely reacting—he was shaping the engagement, step by careful step. The world whispered possibilities, and he was beginning to answer.