(A/N Big thanks to everyone for the Power stones and Golden tickets, they an a lot. As usual, please don’t hesitate to comnt or drop a review. ENJOY)
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And in that mont, for the first ti in years of sparring, Orion’s wooden sword slipped past her defence. The tip pressed faintly against her side before she twisted away, eyes widening.
She reset her stance, blade raised, her expression no longer playful but sharp.
’That... was different.’ She thought, surprise coloring her face.
Orion didn’t answer. His chest rose and fell heavily, but his gaze was steady, locked onto her every movent.
The world around him was shifting again. Threads stretched in all directions—lines that marked distance, montum, the flow of her stance. Combined with the strange clarity of his spatial sense, he could feel the room of the fight as though it was mapped in his mind. Every subtle shift of her weight carved new routes in that invisible web.
It wasn’t instinct. It wasn’t training. It was Protocol.
She lunged.
The faint lines in his vision bent, converging, and he moved before thought could catch up. His sword snapped down at the exact angle needed to et her strike, the wood colliding with a sharp crack.
Her follow-up was imdiate, a twist ant to unbalance him, but the spatial map lit again, showing him where her force would land. Orion shifted his stance, absorbing the pressure rather than stumbling.
Iris’s brows knit together.
"You’ve never fought like this before." She said, intrigued.
She pressed harder. Her swings blurred, one after the next, a relentless rhythm ant to smother and overwhelm him. Orion’s arms scread, his breath short, but Protocol revealed slivers of possibility—tiny openings, safe routes. His sword intercepted hers again and again, not always perfectly, but just enough to keep standing.
The pressure in his head built with every exchange. The longer he used Protocol, the heavier it beca, like too many voices whispering instructions at once. Still, he clung to it.
Another clash, wood splintering faintly at the edge. Orion stepped in, not back, letting the map guide him into her blind angle. His blade surged upward.
For the second ti, Iris barely caught the strike in ti. The surprise in her eyes deepened.
"You—" she cut herself off, teeth gritting.
Her stance dropped lower, her speed climbing higher. This wasn’t a ga anymore. She stopped restraining herself.
The air between them tightened as she attacked in earnest. Orion’s vision sward with threads, hundreds of them, weaving together faster than he could comprehend. He staggered at the overload, his guard faltering; her strike nearly broke through.
He forced himself to narrow focus, clutching onto one thread, then another. The world snapped into a cleaner pattern. He didn’t need to see everything. Just the path that mattered.
Her sword swung low. He stepped just out of reach, his own blade flashing down to redirect. Their shoulders brushed as they crossed. She twisted to strike again, but Orion spun with her, his movent perfectly mirrored by the guidance of Protocol.
Iris’s lips parted in shock.
’How is he keeping up?’ She thought, increasingly perplexed.
For minutes that felt stretched into eternity, the courtyard rang with the clatter of wood. Orion’s arms burned as though molten lead filled them, his legs heavy from constant shifting. But every ti Iris thought she had cornered him, his body slipped into the one angle that let him endure.
Finally, she broke away, panting lightly. Her expression was no longer irritation or casual superiority. It was asured respect.
"You’ve grown dangerous," she admitted softly.
Orion’s vision swam, the threads unraveling as strain crushed his focus. His knees shook, his grip loosening. He could barely keep the sword raised.
But the spark in his gaze never wavered.
She gave a faint, crooked smile and raised her sword once more. "One last clash."
He nodded, saying nothing, too drained for words.
They both surged forward. The threads blazed across his vision one final ti. He saw her strike, saw the exact path, the precise point their blades would et. His sword ca up to match hers.
The wooden blades collided with a resounding crack that echoed across the yard. Neither gave ground. The force reverberated through both their arms, locking them in place for a heartbeat, then two.
And then—mutual stillness.
Their blades slid apart. Both lowered their weapons in unspoken agreent.
It was a draw.
Orion’s chest heaved, sweat dripping freely, his body trembling from the effort. The glow of Protocol faded, leaving him only exhaustion.
Iris watched him quietly, her lips curving into a grin.
"That... was the first ti in years you’ve ever pushed this far." She said.
Orion didn’t smile, but his eyes answered for him.
She rested her blade against her shoulder.
"Next ti, I won’t hold back from the start." She said, resolved.
He wiped a sleeve across his damp brow, nodding once. "Next ti I’ll be even better."
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy, filled with the quiet acknowledgent that sothing had shifted between them, not just a spar, not just sothing petty. For the first ti, Iris had seen Orion stand as more than her nephew; maybe he could count as a rival. She was sure that with the rate he was growing, it wouldn’t be long.
And for Orion, it was proof that the strange new power within him, Protocol, paired with his growing spatial sense, wasn’t just a skill. It was a ga-changer.
The fight had ended in a draw, but in his chest, it felt like victory.
"Now, can you explain to what happened in between that fight?" Alice said, sitting opposite him.
"What?" Orion said.
"Don’t what , I’m not stupid, Orion. Sothing changed halfway through the fight, that wasn’t just plain old improvent," Iris said, her eyes narrowed.
Before the fight, Orion had thought of how he could explain it to her; he couldn’t exactly reveal he had just gained a new skill that definitely wasn’t part of the registered Chronos skills.
He could probably wing it and claim it as being a by-product of his uniqueness, but he wasn’t sure, so for now.
"I’m just that good," He said with a gloating expression while panting.
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