She muttered something under her breath.
Quiet. Quick. Too soft for Elara to hear.
Not a spell. Not an incantation.
A name.
A stance?
A form?
A promise?
Elara couldn't tell.
But whatever it was—
the air responded.
Valeria's blade rose by a fraction—
and the world seemed to narrow into that sliver of silver steel.
No glow. No flare. No dramatic surge of mana.
Just speed.
Pure speed.
The sword didn't flash because of light—
it flashed because the eye could not keep up.
One moment Valeria stood still—
the next—
the strike was already finished.
Elara actually blinked—
stunned.
For the smallest heartbeat, she swore the sword was longer—
as if steel had extended beyond its own physical limit.
Not magically—
but through sheer velocity and angle, the illusion of reach bending around perception.
A cut so sharp the mind invented continuity where the blade had already passed.
And the Strider—
froze.
A thin, perfect line cleaved across its torso—
