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I could see it—a thin, fraying thread weaving a clear line before me, almost mocking me.

Each time I reached the end, it snapped, shattering like glass under pressure.

This time, I let go of fighting back, standing still instead, watching him.

His every step, each subtle shift in stance, was committed to memory.

I just needed one opening. But his blade cut through my throat with unerring speed, faster than I could react.

"Shatter," Aubrey's voice whispered through the dark, and suddenly I was back, facing him once more.

Fifty times. Fifty damned times I'd fought him, and each one ended in my blood on the ground. I couldn't beat him.

It was like being trapped in a loop of death and rebirth, each cycle hanging on that last gasp of breath.

This had to be fate—or worse, some cruel game. But I couldn't accept that.

A mere foot soldier wasn't going to defeat me. Not after everything I'd been through.

And then, I saw it: a way out, faint but real. I felt the threads around me shift, no longer fragile but binding and resilient.

Before he could move, I propelled myself up the hillside, roots springing from every tree around me, wrapping him in a net of iron and bark.

His sword flashed, severing branches, but he was tangled, just for a moment.

I didn't waste time with a backward glance.

I ran, tasting the blood on my tongue, the ache of fifty-one deaths guiding me forward.

Finally, I understood—I wasn't supposed to win. I was supposed to survive.

The hill was steep, and the town I was racing toward stretched out ahead, promising safety—or at least distance.

But as I cleared the final rise, he was there, waiting.

The same figure, his red eyes gleaming, his sword drawn in silent challenge.

I came to a halt just at the edge of flat land, feeling my heart drum in my chest.

Now I could see the faint shimmer of his eyes, the deadly certainty in his stance.

This wasn't a question of strength. I could predict his moves now, but it didn't matter. His skill was the edge, honed to perfection.

My mind scrambled for a plan as I drew my saber, pointing it at him. Running was out of the question; I'd have to outsmart him.

My magic could only create roots and wood—not exactly an arsenal. Vines would be weak, but I could draw on the earth, heal myself if I had to.

With a bit of focus, I might even last long enough to make him regret crossing me.

"You know, killing me might be a mistake," I yelled, keeping my voice steady. "I'd make a better hostage than a corpse."

He tilted his head, considering. "Dead… you will be dead by day's end."

I sighed, raising my hand as thick roots burst from the earth, curling around us in a dome of twisted wood.

The air grew thick as I sealed us in, my sword gripped tight.

"Well then," I muttered, eyeing him through the dark gaps in the wood. "Let's dance."

The dome of roots barely closed around us before he lunged, blade flashing in the filtered light.

I deflected, feeling the jolt travel up my arm, but he came at me again, his attacks relentless.

I threw up a barrier of wood between us, only for his sword to slice through, nearly grazing my shoulder.

Roots erupted from beneath him, twisting around his ankles, trying to hold him. He hacked through them, breaking free with brutal efficiency.

I took the chance to drive forward, saber aimed for his side, and felt the brief satisfaction of my blade connecting.

But he twisted, pulling back just enough that my strike turned into a shallow cut.

Pain shot up my side as his blade nicked me, drawing a line of fire across my ribs.

I staggered, my breath catching, but I forced myself upright, forcing the earth beneath me to respond, thick roots weaving into a tight circle around us.

This close, he couldn't sidestep, couldn't evade.

He charged straight at me instead, his sword raised in a brutal arc.

I met him head-on, parrying his strike, feeling the jarring impact of steel against steel.

My arm ached, but I held firm, forcing him back an inch at a time, until he pushed hard, breaking my guard and cutting a thin line across my cheek.

Blood blurred my vision, stinging, but I refused to blink, refused to falter.

I dropped to one knee, pressing my hand to the ground.

Roots snaked upward, wrapping around his legs in a lattice, giving me just enough time to roll to the side.

He broke free again, lunging, and his sword found my shoulder, slicing deep before I could pull away.

The pain flared hot, but I bit down, channeling all the mana I had left to heal, feeling the wound slowly close.

Desperation pushed me.

I thrust my sword into the ground, drawing on every root, every thread in the earth beneath us, shaping them into a tight, knotted mass of wood that shot up and wrapped around him.

I could see his struggle, the strain in his movements as the roots tightened, giving me a narrow window.

With all the speed I could muster, I charged, saber raised.

Just as I closed in, he twisted, breaking the roots with a surge of strength, his blade sweeping up to meet mine.

Our weapons clashed, sparks flying in the close darkness, each of us straining, muscles burning, as our faces came close, breath mingling in the cold air.

He twisted his sword, and I felt my grip falter.

He wrenched my blade aside, opening me up just enough to drive his fist into my gut.

I doubled over, gasping, as he stepped back, but I kept my feet, refusing to go down.

I stumbled, gripping the earth with my free hand, roots forming beneath me, bracing me upright.

As he moved in for the kill, I drove my mana through the ground, twisting the roots into a tangled web beneath us, creating pits and gaps.

The ground shifted suddenly, throwing him off balance. His foot slipped just slightly, but it was enough.

In that split second, I sprang forward, driving my saber toward his exposed side.

But he recovered with impossible speed, angling his sword to block just in time.

Our blades locked again, and with a twist, he forced my weapon down.

My saber clattered to the ground, and his blade came up, the tip stopping just short of my throat.

Blood dripped down my arm and side, breath coming in ragged gasps. I'd come close, but not close enough.

He'd won.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Roots surged from the ground, sharp as iron, driving into his back and tearing through his armor.

The sudden eruption formed a jagged tower behind him, splintering his armor with a metallic screech.

Blood sprayed in a cold arc, spattering me as he gasped, the shock rippling across his face.

He stumbled, eyes wide beneath the helmet, before finally collapsing to his knees and then to the ground, unmoving.

The dome of roots crumbled, releasing me to the open air, where I felt the searing sun break through, flooding the world in its harsh, golden light.

It blazed low in the sky, its heat heavy on my shoulders, signaling the end of day.

Dusk.