Elius's five floating swords hovered like watchful predators around him, each one catching the glint of broken sunlight that pierced through the fractured skyline. But then, he raised his right hand slowly, and the others stilled.
Only one sword remained active.
He pointed to it.
And it moved.
At first, it began to circle lazily in the air, a slow, steady orbit as though dancing around an invisible axis.
The air trembled subtly. Then, the speed increased.
Once… twice… thrice its previous velocity.
The sword spun faster. Its orbit narrowed. And it began to hum.
And then—it roared.
The spinning blade became a silver blur, drawing wind into its vortex. Dirt rose. Loose papers scattered. Nearby gravel shook and started to rise from the sheer force of suction. Elius didn't move. He simply watched.
The sword spiraled faster.
And faster.
And faster.
