The creature did not rush him.
That, more than anything else, told Kael this wasn't a predator acting on instinct.
It took a single step forward—slow, deliberate—and the ground beneath its foot gave way, not cracking, but compressing inward as if space itself had softened to accommodate it.
Kael adjusted his stance.
Silence wrapped tighter around the clearing, swallowing even the delayed echoes he had grown used to. This wasn't his silence anymore. It didn't obey him.
The thing tilted its head again.
Then it moved.
Not fast.
Instant.
The space between them folded, and the creature was suddenly within arm's reach, its elongated limb snapping forward without wind-up, without sound.
Kael shifted sideways.
The limb passed through where his torso had been and struck the ground behind him. Stone didn't shatter—it collapsed, imploding into itself before rebounding outward in a violent spray.
Kael didn't wait.
He closed distance.
If space itself was being manipulated, then distance was a suggestion, not a defense.
He stepped inside the creature's reach, shoulder rotating as he drove his weight forward. His palm struck its chest—not with force, but with timing.
Nothing happened.
No resistance. No recoil.
His hand passed partially into the creature's surface, like striking dense water.
Kael pulled back instantly.
The thing reacted.
Its form rippled, surface hardening where Kael had touched it. Not adapting in advance—learning.
Kael exhaled.
So this wasn't a brute.
It was iterative.
The creature's second strike came from above, limb elongating unnaturally as it slammed downward. Kael dropped low, rolling forward as the impact crushed the space he'd vacated.
The silence broke for half a heartbeat.
Then returned thicker.
Kael came up on one knee and felt it immediately—pressure not around him, but within him. The hum inside his chest spiked sharply, then fractured.
He gritted his teeth.
This thing didn't apply force.
It applied incompatibility.
The world didn't know how to reconcile Kael and the creature existing in the same space.
Kael pushed himself upright, breathing measured despite the tightness spreading through his ribs.
He had no weapon.
No range.
No leverage.
And for the first time since the basin, silence wasn't an advantage.
The creature stepped forward again.
Kael didn't retreat.
Instead, he stopped suppressing himself.
The silence around him shifted—not expanding, not collapsing—but condensing. Sound didn't disappear. It compressed so tightly it ceased to propagate.
Kael moved.
This time, the creature reacted late.
He closed the gap in a single step and struck again—not its body, but the space just beside it. His hand sliced through the air, fingers rigid, cutting across an invisible boundary.
The effect was immediate.
The creature staggered—not physically, but spatially. Its form warped, limbs elongating unevenly as the area around it destabilized.
Kael felt it then.
Feedback.
The cost surged through him, sharp and punishing. His breath hitched as something tore loose inside his chest—not blood, not bone.
Sound.
Or what remained of it.
Kael forced himself to stay upright.
So this was the price.
The creature reeled, then steadied, its surface smoothing once more. It had adapted again—but slower now.
They stood facing each other.
Both altered.
Both incompatible.
And neither capable of walking away.