High above the tester beds, a narrow shaft of iron-gray morning light fell straight through the spear-width sky-slit in the dome of the Listening Crown, painting a bright circle of frost across the dark restraint needles surrounding Nara Soth.
Outside the brass threshold ring of the needle lattice, the curved stone walkway was barely three paces wide. Too narrow for grand tournament leaps. But wide enough for two Bronze fighters who had spent the night listening to an ancient prisoner dissect their foundations.
Ilyra moved first.
Her marsh-iron spear swept forward along the curve of the outer wall, the white wake of her Early Bronze focus branching into two crisp lines that threatened both Daro Kesh’s lead knee and his sword wrist. Three days ago in the Ravine of Unfinished Forms, that exact branching thrust had pulled sharply at the stitched caravan wound across her right shoulder blade. That forced her to shorten her follow-through to protect the torn muscle.
This morning, on the third beat of the extension, Ilyra rotated her rear hip and right heel a quarter-turn inward. The forgotten ridge release Nara Soth had identified the last night and drilled her through verbally between midnight watches.
Instead of rebounding into her injured right shoulder, the recoil of her Bronze wake traveled cleanly down her spine and vented into the limestone floor through her heel. Her spear point stayed level, unshaking, and an inch faster on the recovery.
