Deremiah shifted into a ready stance, his sword held steady in his grip as he watched Elora from across the clearing.
Her posture was relaxed but not careless, he saw the way she held her sword, so loosely at her side, like it weighed nothing at all. The vines had twisted around her grip, tightening her grasp on the hilt as the gleaming lights of the plants caught along its edge.
"You seem anxious?" she said, her voice carrying across the space between them, calm and firm. "Are you afraid of me, Deremiah?"
He looked at her and gulped. "I'm not," he lied.
"Good," she tilted her head momentarily. "My channels are already suppressing my Aether flow, there's nothing to be worried about."
Deremiah didn't say anything.
"Are you ready?" she asked him.
He took a deep breath. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Elora's lips almost curved to a smile, but it stopped shortly and she raised her blade. "Good. Then show me what you've learned."
