The tiles cracked beneath Torik's feet.
He didn't know how he had moved that fast.
The air still rippled from where he'd stood a heartbeat before, and the dagger in his hand thrummed like it had tasted something sacred. Dama breathed beside him, blinking hard, as if waking from a dream where death had been inches away.
The knight he'd intercepted staggered backward, sword trembling in his grip. The mask of grey, expressionless obedience cracked just enough to show fear.
And now the three remaining knights turned toward Torik.
He wasn't ready.
His legs were shaking. Veins pulsed beneath his skin, and every breath felt like dragging fire through his lungs. His head still rang with the ghost-ache of veilbinding, but this, this was something else. Something deeper. Something in him.
He didn't know what he'd done.
But they had noticed.
They came at him like falling walls.
Dama, still on one knee, shouted his name. Kell's voice rang behind her, rough with command: "Hold them!"
Dama forced herself upright with a cry. Her back armor was dented deeply, a ragged crater in the steel, but she planted her feet, blood dripping down one side of her mouth. She wasn't fast anymore, but she could still fight.
Kell intercepted the knight furthest right, steel clashing as they crashed into a column. Stone cracked. He twisted and swept low, trying to cut behind the things's knee, but the knight was too strong. Still, Kell held his form.
The middle one reached Torik.
Torik had no time to think. He reacted.
He moved.
There was no veilbinding. No trick. No illusion. Just raw, physical speed.
He dodged left, then ducked low, slipping under a horizontal swing. The knight brought his blade down but Torik caught it with the edge of his dagger and twisted away, momentum carrying him into a roll.
He didn't get far. The knight turned and came again.
Torik brought his blade up but not in time. The knight's punch caught him in the ribs and flung him across the floor. He hit hard, gasping.
"Torik!" Dama started toward him, only for the knight nearest her to advance again.
Kell, now locked with his own opponent, spared a glance. "Dama. He moved like you. That speed… That was musclebinding."
Dama froze for a fraction of a second. "That's impossible. You can't have two Bound Arts."
"He does," Kell growled, barely catching a strike meant for his head. "And thank the First for it."
Torik coughed blood, but his legs answered him before his mind did. He rolled to his knees, heart pounding.
What was that? How had he done it?
He could feel something coiled in him now. Something new. Not like veilbinding, which hovered on the edge of thought like a net waiting to be cast. No, this was deeper. In his blood. In his bones.
He looked up as the knight closed the distance again.
And Torik answered.
He surged to his feet, sidestepped a blow, then struck.
He wasn't trained like Dama. Wasn't disciplined like Kell. But he had speed. Reflex. Survival.
The dagger slashed under the knight's guard. Not deep enough.
Torik backed off, then leapt. He soared over the next blow and landed behind the knight, twisting mid-air. He drove his dagger toward the joint of the backplate.
The blade found a seam.
The knight roared. Spun.
Too slow.
Torik dropped low and kicked the knight's leg from under him. The warrior toppled. Torik went for the neck, but a gauntleted hand caught his wrist.
He struggled.
Veilbinding sparked. For a split second, he showed the knight a blade falling toward his throat instead from Dama, an echo of fear.
The knight flinched.
And Torik stabbed. Deep.
The body went still.
He fell back, panting.
Two left.
Kell was bleeding now, but still upright. His opponent had scored a hit across his thigh. He compensated by fighting closer, tighter, like every inch of space was gold.
Dama moved like a limping hurricane. Her breaths were ragged, her swings more deliberate. She parried, twisted, sidestepped. Blood dripped steadily from her side.
Torik stumbled upright and rejoined the fray.
The knight on Kell turned, sensing the new threat. Kell saw it.
"Torik! Left!"
Torik pushed into the knight's mind, skewed his perception.
The thing saw a blade coming high and right.
He raised his guard too high.
Kell thrust low.
The sword slid into the knight's ribs.
The monstrosity fell.
The last knight growled and charged Dama, sword raised.
She barely lifted her blade.
Torik moved. His body sang.
He wasn't fast. He was instant.
He slammed into the knight from the side, throwing both of them to the floor. The knight rose first, furious, swinging wildly.
Torik ducked, dodged, stepped in.
His dagger punched into the side of the knight's helm. The thing reeled.
Then a sword burst from his chest.
Dama stood behind him, panting, covered in blood.
"Thanks for the distraction," she said.
Torik collapsed to his knees.
Silence.
Only their breathing remained.
Kell wiped his blade. "You alright?"
Torik looked at his hands.
They were shaking.
He had moved like them. Fought like them. Was becoming them.
"I... I shouldn't be able to do that."
Kell sat heavily on the floor. "No. You shouldn't."
Dama leaned against the wall. "But we saw it. You did."
Torik looked between them. "What does it mean?"
Neither answered.