Dravok moved.
There was no wind-up, no gather to it, nothing an eye could catch as a warning. One instant he stood with his hands at his sides five paces off, and the next he wasn't there at all, and a breath of displaced air brushed Trafalgar's face as the old man reappeared a body-length to his left, already at rest, as though he'd been standing there the whole time and Trafalgar had only just noticed.
And [Sword Insight] woke.
It came the way it always did, uninvited, driving in behind his eyes, but this time it was a pinch rather than the skull-splitting agony of the last technique he'd torn out of the air. A short, hot needle of pain, there and gone, and behind it a piece of understanding dropping into place. It wasn't the whole of the thing, and it wasn't mastery, only the beginning of it, the first bones of how the movement was built, laid open for him the instant he saw it done.
