Elara's breath rattled. The room stank of polish, leather, and smoke—old power pressed into every edge. Behind Callum, laughter echoed from the ring of shadows, faces half-lit by yellow glass overhead.
She barely registered the words at first.
"A powerless Kynenn? I'm supposed to believe you survived the Foundation attacks, came here for vengeance, and have nothing?"
The conversation surrounded her—loud and impossible to tune out.
"Obviously she's hiding it. She wouldn't come here this boldly if she was so weak? She's just waiting. You playing dumb is gonna annoy me."
"Whatever Rhea, maybe she's charging it. She doesn't look that old—probably hasn't even matured."
In a room full of people she had only recently begun to hate, they still found the time to mock her. She looked down at the broken laptop—bits of the screen had come apart, scattered and hanging loose.
"Matured or not, she doesn't stand a chance. It's not fair—I can't even get him to spar me."
"Yeah, she really poked the bear."
"Hahahahaa—well, that's what she gets. Don't hold back on her, darling."
Her breathing was far from steady. She gripped the jagged edge of a broken glass — slick, already biting into her palm. The council watched her, amused maybe. Even Callum didn't move. He stood across the table, broad-shouldered, hands open and at his sides, blazer creased perfectly, looking like he'd never thrown a punch in his life.
He didn't flinch as Elara's shadow bent, as she circled the edge of the table, stalking. He wanted her to move first.
And Elara had no problem doing so. Her weight shifted to her weapon side, swaying back, drunken but gathering momentum.
Then she lunged—glass blade cleaving down from his left shoulder to his right hip, her full weight driving the strike like a guillotine.
Callum barely shifted. He slid back just enough for the edge to scream past his chest, carving nothing but air.
As the swing bottomed out, her arm fully extended downward and to her opposite side, Callum seized her wrist with one hand. Smoothly, he wrenched it upward and across her body. Her chest twisted open, off balance and exposed, spine torqued under his control.
Simultaneously, his other arm slipped across her throat, sliding smoothly into a chokehold from behind. Suddenly, her back pressed tight against his chest, his grip a solid bar around her neck.
The glass shard slipped from her fingers, tumbling to the floor.
Gasping, she twisted sharply, wrenching herself free. Spinning fully to face him, her foot caught the fallen shard mid-spin, flicking it expertly upward.
Without losing momentum, her opposite hand caught it midair in a reverse grip. She instantly swiped hard toward Callum's neck.
He tilted back, calmly, avoiding the slash by barely an inch.
"Come On!" He dragged the word out, flaunting his boredom. "Where's your honor? If this is your best, you'll never kill me."
She tried to block him out—his voice, the six faces watching behind him, all smiling like this was a game of keep-away.
You think this is a game? Honor? I don't care about honor.
Never before had Elara experienced such a surge of emotion, in the back of her mind she was horrified, but that was drowned out by a stronger feeling.
Elara lunged with her free hand, throwing a desperate straight punch toward his jaw. Callum intercepted smoothly, his forearm knocking her fist downward and away.
But the punch had only been a feint—immediately she followed with another quick slash, palm facing up, her arm slid inward toward his chest.
Where was your honor when you guys took my only friend?
Callum slapped her knife-hand upward and slightly behind him, disrupting her arc. Elara used his momentum against him, letting her arm loop fully around and above Callum's head, elbow bent, trapping him momentarily close to her body.
With no room to draw back, Elara instantly pivoted on her grounded foot, firing a tight roundhouse kick at Callum's side. His forearm shot up sharply, absorbing the kick, bones colliding with an audible thud.
They disengaged, each stepping back a pace, breath rapid and harsh. Elara inhaled hard through his nose, chest rising and falling. But she didn't move. She didn't bother catching her breath. There was no weight in her legs, no tremble in her hands. Elara didn't bother to catch her breath. She didn't feel tired. Actually, she exclusively felt one thing.
She surged forward again, sweeping another heavy downward slash toward his collarbone. Callum sidestepped neatly, letting the strike slide harmlessly past. But she twisted instantly, turning the missed slash horizontally, slashing outward at neck level, hoping to slice open his windpipe.
Callum ducked smoothly beneath the attack. Her momentum carried her forward, and without pause she pivoted with the flow, spinning through fluidly, Elara raised her trail leg.
Callum's forearm lifted in a rigid block, intercepting just before her heel could strike his temple.
"What a little monster" A voice behind them giggled, "She hasn't slowed down yet". Elara's movements were beyond fluid. Each attack, each redirection chained so perfectly into the next. It all looked planned. But it wasn't. Her feelings drove her completely, and worst of all, she hadn't connected on even one attempt.
Immediately, Elara jabbed forward aggressively with the knife, aiming for his heart. Callum slid effortlessly to his left, and she jabbed again sharply—he flowed to the right, never off-balance.
If i hit you even once– Just one time, it won't be where you walk it off.
Frustration building, she lunged with another punch. He anticipated, grabbing her wrist solidly before she could fully extend her arm.
She intentionally dropped the knife. Her opposite hand darted out before it hit the floor, catching it smoothly in a reverse grip and immediately stabbing low at his ribs.
I swear on my own life. If I do nothing else. I will kill you.
Callum intercepted her knife-hand again, gripping her wrist tightly and forcing her blade away from his body. She yanked back, fighting fiercely against his grip.
But Callum anticipated her strength perfectly. With a swift twist, he spun neatly beneath her trapped wrist, lifting her arm straight overhead as he turned. In one smooth motion, his back now fully to her, he leveraged her arm and flipped her cleanly over his shoulder.
She crashed onto the tile, but instinctively rolled through the landing and sprang upright again, breath ragged.
Elara rushed forward, slashing violently across her body toward Callum's throat. This time, Callum stepped inward rather than back, closing the gap. He blocked sharply at her upper arm, right above the elbow. His other hand simultaneously pinned her forearm in place at a precise right angle, stalling her movement completely.
She drove her shoulder forward into his chest with pure desperation, forcing Callum to loosen his hold briefly. Instantly free, she swiped outward once more, refusing to retreat even an inch.
But Callum didn't step back either; he remained close, tightening their space further. She lifted the knife high, aiming to drive it downward into his shoulder.
Calmly, he ducked low, torso turning slightly to the side. His left hand gripped her inner forearm while his right arm pushed forward across her elbow, straightening and locking her limb outward at full extension.
Elara's wrist twisted painfully, reflex forcing her fingers open. The knife fell again.
She spun quickly, catching it mid-drop with her other hand, and immediately slashed wildly toward Callum's neck.
This time Callum's hand snapped out and locked firmly around her wrist. Elara reacted on pure instinct, throwing a punch with her free hand—wild, frantic.
Callum caught this wrist too, effortlessly crossing her arms, trapping both securely in front of crossed in place.
Before she could react further, Callum drove his heel directly into her stomach, never loosening his grip. Elara's body buckled from the force, her breath exploding painfully from her lungs.
This time, her grip failed completely. The knife slipped free, falling through the air.
Callum caught it smoothly with his free hand.
He held it a moment, breathing calm, blade steady. Then he spoke—voice cold, unstrained.
"Listen," he murmured, disgust lacing his tone. "I have half a mind to kill you for this disrespect. But there's no pride in ending something this weak, let alone a woman."
Elara had been holding her wrists, only now did she notice her skin was charred into repetitive sigils in multiple spots across each wrist. In brief memory, she felt each burn, but the motor functions of her brain ignored every single one.
If these are anything like the last, he can make these explode whenever he wants. Damnit. Is it not enough that I can't touch him—but now he can hit me without even touching me?
"There are only two ways you leave this room. Show you can be something of worth." He tightened his grip on the knife, eyes sharp as the blade. "Or you go in a bag"
He tilted the blade, letting it catch the dim light.
"Hell, show me whatever you're hiding, and maybe I'll even find that boyfriend of yours, assuming he's still alive." Then tossed it behind him, across the room.
"But I must warn you, i'm starting to believe your earlier comment"
Callum walked forward while speaking. He was now on the offensive.
He threw a blistering straight punch toward her jaw. Elara ducked swiftly right, slipping past his knuckles.
Another punch flew instantly—she slipped left, narrowly avoiding it. Two more punches followed sharply; she deflected the first with a quick forearm block but had to duck again, narrowly evading the second.
It was brief, but Elara was sure she saw Callum smirk, just before her wrist exploded in place, only one of the stacked sigils disappeared, but the explosion was almost double the power of the first.
A fifth punch came impossibly fast, landing flush against her cheekbone. Her vision flashed, rhythm shattered instantly.
For a second, she saw nothing—but by the time she regained orientation, another of Callum's fists had been injected into her liver. She buckled, gasping. Before she could even try to block, a brutal cross smashed into her nose. Bone and cartilage cracked, sending sharp agony bursting through her skull.
She swung back wildly—a desperate, sloppy hook. Callum leaned calmly back and to the left, just enough to let her fist glide past harmlessly. His weight shifted perfectly, left fist already cocked.
The punch fired—clean, direct, a perfect line. It connected like a piston, snapping her head back viciously.
In desperation, Elara surged forward again, palms and elbows colliding messily in a close-range burst. Knees collided, hips turned, a chaotic tangle of instinctive strikes.
Callum quickly reset the pace, controlled and ruthless.
Right jab.
Left jab.
Uppercut. Vicious, landing squarely beneath her chin.
The last punch lifted Elara off her feet. Her body slammed hard onto the polished floor, limp.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Callum straightened slowly, adjusting his cuffs as if he'd barely moved.
She lay gasping, grabbing at her throat—
She felt the char, another sigil placed directly under her trachea.
When did he even—
Elara quickly pierced it together.
The moment her swing missed. How he stepped back, let the strike drag wide. Her arm had overextended, and he'd taken it—seized her wrist and wrenched it high, twisting her open. Then the other arm came around, smooth and sudden. His grip across her throat. Her spine bent, her back slammed against his chest—his hold like iron, steady and exact.
"Show me something woman" Elara couldn't see past her immediate surroundings, but she knew who the voice belonged to. "That one? It's been anchored to your throat long enough to kill you outright. A hit like that, with that much force—you will die. And that's the thing. The longer I let them sit, the stronger they get. I don't even have to fight you anymore."
I had a feeling, but what can I even do? I can't afford to die here. I have to save Hikari.
The woman Elara had initially attacked was laughing, so obnoxious, she was like a cheerleader.
Callum looked down, cold eyes studying her broken form.
Elara's breath hitched as she stood, feet gripping against cold tile. The anger drained, and fear—quiet until now—rose sharp and clear. The world warped around her: Callum's voice, the laughter, the heavy rhythm of boots—it all blurred at the edges. None of it reached her. What broke through was her. Her heartbeat—loud, arrhythmic, thunderous. She felt it pounding through her carotids, echoing in her skull, pulsing behind her eyes. Every beat felt like a countdown.
She could feel her nerves.The bursts of bioelectric signal surging down axons, muscle fibers twitching as her motor cortex dumped everything it had into preventing the current phenomena. Elara wasn't watching it happen—but she might as well have been. Her brain was indexing it, tracking it. Mapping it. Noticing where her systems lit up, and why.
Elara became acutely conscious of the internal workings of her body. Yes she was in pain, but physically, she felt nothing overly abnormal. That didn't matter much though, she picked a fight with people who were obviously out of her league. Seven of them at that, as much emotion as she had, it wouldn't get her anywhere out of this situation.
Its funny, really. I studied takton for my whole life, hands on, and through the books. Even without my own, Only now can I kinda make sense of it now.
She let the thought sit for a while, the speed of her emotional flip caused time to slow dramatically. Probably the discontinuance of adrenaline. But then something clicked—not metaphorically. A literal click, deep in her skull. Her next breath came wrong. Panicked, offset, and out of rhythm. Like her body had skipped a step and the rest was catching up.
Elara's anxiety began to catch up to her. She was having a palpitation.
She imagined this is what people feel like after being resuscitated.
My whole body feels like it just got hit with lightning.
Her memory jumped, unprompted. The dampsteel cuffs. She hadn't thought about them since meeting Truth. The pressure they gave off—it didn't hurt much at all. But it had done something. Like they were trying to shut off a switch she absolutely didn't have.
Tfh, a 'kynenn' with no takton.
Back then she thought it was her imagination. But now that she actually paid attention it wasn't. That foreign buzz, the way it threaded down her spine
A sound cracked nearby—someone laughing. Callum? One of the others? She couldn't tell. It didn't matter. In preparation for what was upcoming, Elara's life flashed before her eyes. Every memory she ever had was playing in totality.
Another memory surfaced. From the Foundation, years ago. She found her nose buried in a book about Takton conduction fields, trying to understand how she could manifest what she'd hoped… was her Tenkai. It compared takton pulses to waveforms. Said each Kynenn had a natural frequency, like a personal heartbeat of energy.
That idea stuck with her—Takton as rhythm. Not power, not fire, or water. Rhythm. So she picked up a second book. One on physics. Wave interference. She didn't even make it halfway through.
It was mathy, stiff—talking about sine waves and phase angles and something called destructive interference. She remembered dropping it halfway through. None of it felt reliable. The book described water ripples, speaker feedback, light beams canceling each other out. Not a separate heartbeat. Elara wasn't surprised, but she also wasn't interested.
Takton isn't a sound wave, or a ripple. It's inside us. It pulses from the bloodstream outward. That's what she'd thought back then.
But now—on the edge of blacking out, body lit up like a power grid—she understood the concept.
Takton was rhythm.
But rhythm came from somewhere.
Her nerves were firing like a cascade, muscles twitching without command. Her heart was pounding—harder than anything, harder than it should've. Every electrical current in her body was aligned. Not on purpose—on survival. She didn't have elemental power surging through her. Which meant… there was nothing to throw her off.
No noise. No fire. No current pulling her rhythm out of sync.
She wasn't a conductor.
But she was a metronome.
That's why the dampsteel had reacted. It released a voltage to cancel out the coherence. Each function together, similar to the concept of chi, creates the 'pulse' everyone refers to. Like a band to a performance, the drums alone don't make an entire instrumental.
And the power of a Tenshi, is the conductor, they harmonize everything to one concurrent melody.
The thing about that band is, well if i start erratically playing my own piano.. The song falls apart.
"Did I knock you deaf?" Callum's voice cut through the haze—low, smug. "Have it your way."
Elara didn't answer. She couldn't. Not verbally. Her focus tunneled inward.
She tried to remember the sensation—that hum the dampsteel had sent crawling through her spine. It hadn't hurt. It had disrupted. Not something burning through her veins—but something pressing outward, trying to cancel what shouldn't have existed. And maybe that was the key.
Not force. Not flow. Friction.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears again—off-rhythm, arrhythmic, raw. She focused on that. On the tremor in her hands. On the electric tension in her limbs. Takton was supposed to be guided. Shaped. Conducted through a bond with a Tenshi. But Elara didn't have a Tenshi. She never had.
So she'd conduct herself.
She centered the rhythm—her rhythm—threading together every signal firing in her body: cardiac pulse, nerve flicker, breath pattern. No spell. No amplification. Just the static. The fuzz. The background noise that no one ever listened for. She didn't need to build anything. She just needed it to leave her body.
One push.
A single beat, broadcast out—not with power, but with precision.
Callum's eyes flicked, almost imperceptibly. The satisfaction on his face dulled into something else.
He looked down at his palm. Curled it once. Focused.
The sigil didn't go off.
His brows twitched. He tried again—twisting his wrist, drawing on whatever internal cue he used to detonate the mark. Still nothing.
A flicker of tension crossed his jaw. He tried a third time. This time his hand clenched slightly, as if willing the reaction into place.
Nothing.
The sigil blinked once—then faded completely.
He stared at it, unmoving.