And Liam moved.
[BLINK]
The world fractured. Reality bent. Liam phased three feet left, Igar's Shard already cutting toward Orin's exposed ribcage in a strike [Martial Combat] made instinct.
The greatsword wasn't there to meet it.
Orin had pulled the strike entirely, stepped back, and was watching with clinical interest as Liam's blade carved through empty air.
"Spatial displacement," the Grand Commander observed, his tone almost conversational. "Interesting. Short range, I assume? The energy signature suggests limited distance." He tilted his head. "Again."
It wasn't a request.
Orin moved—not fast, not the blinding speed Liam had seen him use on the garrison. Just quick and measured. The greatsword swept horizontal at chest height, giving Liam exactly enough time to react.
Testing.
Liam dropped under the blade, felt the wind of its passage ruffle his hair, and thrust upward with Igar's Shard aimed at Orin's armpit where the plates met.
