Steam drifted between them, thick and silent. The courtyard smelled of salt and blood.
The Tidewarden's trident hung low, his arms trembling slightly from the shock of the impact. The faint line across his chest widened, a slow stream of crimson tracing down the curve of his armor. He stared at Trafalgar — disbelief flashing for the first time in his eyes.
Trafalgar hadn't moved an inch. His blade was lowered, point resting against the marble, his breathing steady. The faint grin from before lingered on his lips, quiet and unreadable.
The guard exhaled hard, breaking the silence. Water gathered around his feet again, swirling tighter — instinct rather than control. He gripped his trident with both hands and lunged.
The weapon darted forward.
Trafalgar shifted. A single movement — left foot sliding half a step, upper body turning just enough to let the first thrust slip past his ribs. His eyes followed the shaft of the weapon, tracking every twitch, every ripple in the air.
