C'Leena was alone. that in of itself is strange. Normally, she'd have the company of Nephele but today was different. Nephele had her own things to do that she had insisted had to be done alone, so C'Leena agreed. In order to pass the time, C'Leena had found herself a quiet area obscured by woods to meditate.

The method was recently taught to her by Nephele herself, but since she wasn't here to help ground her, she decided to use an old sword dance she was taught a few years ago. Despite it being not too long ago when she initially learnt the sword dance, it felt like an eternity. With all the events that took place recently, it's made her stay in Charon feel like forever, even though it's only been 3 months.

Drawing her rapier from it's scabbard, she looks it over and smiles faintly. Taking a deep breath, she settles into a stance, closes her eyes and draws on near-forgotten memories. Her dance; 'Dance of the Sword Fairy' was something that was taught to her when she learnt her form. Back then, it was also a meditative technique but she rarely used it as she simply didn't have the space to be swinging a sword in her home. Now, though? She technically doesn't have a home yet. Her and Nephele had been travelling from place to place, staying in taverns and inns for their stay. It's a bit of an expensive lifestyle, but the both of them are happy with it.

As she begins her dance, it starts slow. Her movements don't quite flow like they should, sometimes she overswings, occasionally she turns a bit too much, but the movements are there. C'Leena lets her breath find it's natural rhythm as she wrenches her wandering mind to the here and now. The feeling of air on the little skin she still has full feeling with, the sense of pressure where her prosthetics connect to flesh.

The dance itself is a loop. The first step lines up with the final step so somebody could continue with the dance indefinitely and have it flow smoothly. With each passing repetition of the dance, C'Leenas movements find their grace. From janky movements as she struggled to remember to each step being calculated and precise, the dance begins to look more and more wonderous.

Each swing of the blade, each twist, turn and bow flow from the previous action to the next like water flowing over stones. Her intent is clear as her face relaxes from a concentrated look to a neutral expression. The blade slices through the air as the dance picks up speed. It remains slow, but compared to when she started, it's a massive improvement.

Her mind has always had difficulty staying still. With a massive force of her own will, she forces her mind to sit still as she sinks deeper into a trance-like state. Focusing on the feelings surrounding her, she also concentrates on the sounds of the forest she is in. The wind rustling leaves of trees and bushes, the whistle of the wind itself. The soft sounds of grass being crushed underfoot.

The sound of her own clockwork heart and pneumatic-like hiss of her lung with each breath. Both are almost impossible to hear externally, the only things helping her are the sensations of blood pumping through her body and the light vibration of her lung expanding and deflating. 

She is unsure how long she is in this dance for. It's easy to lose time when she's in this state. The only thing proving that time has passed is a light tingle in her fingertips. Something that nearly breaks her concentration. She hasn't had sensation in her prosthetics in years, and while C'Leena was working tirelessly on her inscriptions to get her sense of touch back, it turns out it's a nerve issue. Her body is simply unused to feeling things that shouldn't be there, and the meditation that Nephele showed her has been acting like a nerve therapy for her. How it works, she's unsure; magic bullshit, probably.

Despite the tingle, she continues with her dance as her sense of touch very, very slowly comes back. Unbeknownst to C'Leena, she has a smile on her face. C'Leena probably wont shut up about her progress today to Nephele, but she has a feeling that Nephele wouldn't mind in the slightest. 

One way or another, Cyran usually found himself making his way through the Cradle. He found he didn’t mind much anymore - the weather was violent, and more often than not he found himself with some kind of trouble vis a vis bandits or demons or ferocious monsters, but there was a strange kind of serenity that possessed him when he walked through the craggy wastes on his own. Though it was often work that brought him here, today he was merely a drifter, homeward bound, without much urgency. The trip from Frostgale to the Ash Lands was not long for someone with wings and easy access to a mount, though for some reason, he felt the need to move slowly.

The life of an assassin was a busy one. Though Cyran was accustomed to packing up and going where his blades were needed, often times business left him… weary. At the very least, he cherished this time to himself, and the chance to move slowly and rest himself whenever needed. There was no denying it - he was getting old. He couldn’t move like he used to. It was… difficult for him to keep up a continuous fast pace, especially during travel between jobs. At least it gave him a chance to stop and enjoy the scenery.

Today’s stretch of the journey had brought him through an interesting biome - stone and grass giving way to a small forest of sorts, composed of trees so ancient that the outer rim surrounding the woods appeared to be made of petrified wood. In a place with weather as violent as the Cradle, where wildlife could easily be ripped out by the ghost of Avasha’s whims, it was quite fascinating to see how nature stubbornly planted roots and stood firm to avoid being swept away. Not to mention it provided an ideal shelter for him to find respite in while he made camp for the evening.

With that in mind, the assassin stepped into the safety of the shadows cast by the yawning flora, embracing the cool nature of the shade. The darkness seemed to curl around him as he stepped, footsteps making little sound even as his boots crunched over grass and snapped twigs. The woods were silent, though he didn’t mistake that for peaceful. Dragon’s Cradle held no shortage of strange and powerful monsters. Cyran himself was not visibly armed - though he would have his daggers out in a heartbeat if he needed to defend himself. For now, he traipsed through the wooded area, unguarded though ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

That was when a sound caught his attention - footsteps, too light to be some large monster, and too small for a woodland animal. Humanoid. Cyran’s shoulders stiffened, worried that perhaps he’d run afoul of some brigand, though they didn’t seem to be drawing any closer to him. Curious, he turned on his heel, pivoting in the direction of the noise. He stuck to the shadows, unseen to all except those who called the darkness their domain, until he came upon a small clearing.

Within the clearing was a young woman. Human, he thought, though it was difficult to tell what with her moving around in a circle, of sorts. Cyran leaned against a nearby tree, caution forgotten as he watched the woman’s dance. No, perhaps dance was not the proper term for this - with the rapier in her hand, it looked more like a kata or some sort of meditative form. Whatever it was, the young woman was so focused on her movements that she was completely blind to the world around her, moving like a river from step to step, never once missing a beat. Focused only on her footsteps, her boots nearly perfectly retracing each past imprint left in the grass, the beat of her heart, and the snap of her wrist as she twirled her sword.

Cyran fancied himself a decent enough bladesman, though he doubted he would ever think to do anything as graceful as this. Some form of meditation? Whatever it was, it had clearly eased her mood - she was smiling. Lost in the movements of this strange trance, Cyran watched the young woman continue her loop, unaware of the fact that he had neglected to hide in the shadows, or that it would probably be polite for him to announce his presence.

Time was a blur. Her focus became rock solid once she had fallen into her trance-like state. Her movements became so precise that there were specific divets in the grass where she'd been stepping. Without her sight, she relied more on her hearing. She's no stranger to blindness, so she knew what to listen out for and how to pull as much information from little sounds as possible.

She began hearing the sounds of birds resting in trees, the wing beats of them flying overhead, and.. something else. Her sense of touch had improved with leaps and bounds today, but it probably wouldn't last too long, time to cherish it while it's here. Her dance comes to a sudden halt as she opens her eyes and scans the woods. She's half expecting Nephele to be there, but it isn't.

Ahead looks to be a man just watching her. "Unnerving." she quietly mumbles to herself before she sheathes her rapier and begins an approach. As C'Leena gets closer, more details about her become clear. Firstly are her clothes. C'Leena is currently wearing her shirt that Nephele had bought for her, and her pair of jeans and work boots. The latter two look completely unfamiliar to Cyran. The materials used don't look like anything largely worn, if worn at all. While the boots are made of leather, they definitely don't look like they do.

C'Leena herself is a 6ft woman who appears to have a rather impressive physique. Her eyes are currently a pair of aquamarine gemstones that glow even in the midday sun. Surrounding her eyes are what appear to be severe burn scars that discolor and web the skin. She has somewhat short, brown hair that's primarily swept off to the right side of her face. 

She stops her approach about 10 feet from the stranger before speaking. "You know, it's a bit rude to watch someone who doesn't know your there, mate. Might give a gal like me a bit of a scare." Her accent is completely unfamiliar and rather thick. It's still understandable, however. "What's your name, cobber?" she asks, leaning her forearm against the hilt of her blade.

It's definitely not a pleasant experience to be snuck up on, but the last time it happened, it ended up working out well. She wouldn't call what Shaa did as sneaking up as he just meandered over, but that day was mightily interesting. Never thought she'd crash a dwarves birthday party simply because she was getting chased down by kobolds. Strangely enough, she hopes to see that big fuckoff minotaur again someday.

Looking at the stranger up and down, she notes his general appearance and whether he's armed or not, which is hard to tell. He's not armed with anything like a sword - at least visibly. That a little comfort, she supposes. The elf has a certain ageless look to him, which has been a running theme with the elves she has met over the months. There aint a chance in hell she's guessing this guys age. He looks to be around C'Leenas age, but that's probably so far from the truth that even the American government back home would be impressed. 

She watches the stranger with curious eyes. Cyran could tell that C'Leena is making direct eye contact, despite not having any details in the eye to go off of. 

The moment she finished her dance, coming out of her trance-like motions, her eyes immediately landed on him. Cyran stiffened, face heating in shame at being caught staring. It hadn’t occurred to him that his actions would have been perceived as creepy - though he had a wealth of friends and family now, it became woefully apparent that his own idiosyncrasies made him more than a bit socially awkward. Used to observing, taking in any information, never being seen… it was all so second nature to him that he forgot it wasn’t exactly common behavior.

The woman stalked up to him, suspicion evident in her every move. She was about the same height as him - Cyran himself stood at roughly around six feet, though his physique was more slender and less the corded muscle of a warrior. He met her gaze head-on, the darkened patch over his right eye, the dark of his clothes, the tired lines around his eyes. In that uncanny way elves seemed to age, his physical appearance indicated he couldn’t have been older than twenty-five - and yet, there was something tired in his only visible, silver eye. Something ancient.

He didn’t appear to be armed, not upon cursory glance anyways.

He tilted his head as she approached, too ashamed to speak, as first. She broke the silence for him, demanding to know his name. At least, that was what he thought she was asking. Her thick accent was difficult to place, and her slang even moreso. He’d been around the realm a few times, but never heard anything like this. Where did it come from? Was he out of touch with new language? When he spoke, his voice was a low murmur - hushed, though with a light accent and cadence that felt far more proper than assassin ought to have.

“Cobber?” He repeated, confused. He… thought it was an insult? It was certainly justified if that was the case. “Ah… I’m sorry for startling you. I noticed your form and I was intrigued - I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He blinked.

“Oh! Yes, names. I am Cyran.”

He offered no last name - he did not have a family moniker to offer. What he did offer, though, was an extended hand, one that was covered in little nicks and callouses from years of training with a blade. If she didn’t shake, he wouldn’t be particularly offended.

“Was that some form of meditation? I do so regularly, though I’ve never considered incorporating blade forms into it. Very clever.”

Cyrans general attitude almost declared that he didn't expect to be seen, which C'Leena found more amusing than anything. Despite the situation, a bit of a smile formed on her face, even more so when he questioned her slang. "Cobber, aye. I keep forgetting that my slang is unusual. I use it for people I don't know. you know, instead of saying 'stranger' or something." She explains easily. Generally, she'd purposefully keep Cyran in the dark since she always found peoples confusion amusing, but this doesn't seem like the time.

"Cyran, huh? Dr. C'Leena Thomas." She introduces, taking Cyrans hand. Her meditation slash therapy has given her a limited sense of touch, so she was able to feel the calluses which widened her smile just another smidge. C'Leenas own hand looks normal, however the same cannot be said for touch. What would be expected would of been a warm hand free of calluses, but instead Cyran takes hold of what feels like cold metal.

Now that C'Leena is closer, ever so slightly peeking out from the collar is more of those scars that surround her eyes. It's not enough to truly see how much there is, but there appears to be more hidden by her clothing. She shakes Cyrans hand before releasing it and hooking her thumb into a belt loop.

"Yeah, it's a meditation thing. I'd be stoked if you had seen something like it, honestly. Keep me posted, yeah?" Her smile turns a bit lopsided as she jokes with Cyran. "I appreciate the compliment. Wish I could take credit for it, though. I knew the form, I recently learnt the meditation and I needed something to ground me, so I put them together. Works a charm, honestly."

Outwardly, C'Leena seems unusually at ease, despite the sudden appearance of Cyran. Internally, though? She is wildly concerned. His eye, for example? That is some villain shit if she ever did see villain shit. Something tweaks her memory, and suddenly her eyebrows rise.

"Waitwaitwait, Same Cyran that made the uhh," She snapped her fingers a few times in quick succession, a metallic tapping noise ringing out. "The uh, Haunting Blade, right?" She finally recalled, pointing at Cyran as she names the ability. She hasn't had a chance to actively use it, but she's recently learnt it. It would be pretty damn cool if this is the very same Cyran. Heres hoping.

There was a sheepish expression on Cyran’s face as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I see. If it isn’t obvious I’m not quite caught up on modern language.” His kids usually kept him in the know on new slogans, but there were always changes to trends in language that he missed that could catch him by surprise. He wondered where that term came from, though. “It’s lovely to meet you, Doctor Thomas.”

She seemed a little young to be a doctor, he thought. It was difficult for him to discern human ages, though if he had to guess, he would put her in the first few decades of her life. So young, and yet she’d already seen so much. That was obvious in the scars around her eyes and creeping down her neck, marks that looked like deep burn scars that had healed over, though the skin was stretched slightly too thin. And though her hands looked smooth, smoother than he might expect from a swordswoman, the smooth palms felt as cold as steel. There was a story there - oh, there was always some sort of story. Though it felt like the children carrying them were only growing younger and younger.

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers, electing not to ask. It wasn’t his place.

“Well, it appears to have done you quite well.” She’d seemed to be lost in the movements of what she was doing, utterly thoughtless as she stepped from place to place. Cyran’s meditation was limited to closing his eyes and entering a trance, though there was something to be said about her method. Perhaps he would have to try it himself sometime…

He could feel her distrust simmering beneath her gaze, a suspicion she didn’t quite voice, though kept in the back of her name all the same. Cyran supposed he couldn’t be offended. He had snuck up on her, after all. Though he didn’t expect her face to suddenly light up in recognition, snapping her fingers together before listing the most ridiculous name he’d ever heard in his life.

“The haunting blade?” He repeated, incredulous. “It certainly sounds like my technique…” He’d taught a few people his knife-blade technique by now, including his own apprentices and a couple of his friends. Realistically, he knew that others had used the technique until it had had spread to others he didn’t know. His brows furrowed as he crossed his arms, puzzling over this conundrum. “But I didn’t name it that. Hell, I never even thought it would spread so far. Where did you learn it?”

He couldn’t help but be curious about where C’leena learned it… and a bit flattered that there was it was a useful enough maneuver that others had bothered picking it up.

C'Leena chuckled at being called 'Dr. Thomas'. Oh, the memories that one sparked. "Please, just C'Leena. We aren't in a doctor's office, are we?" She paused, thinking on her next words. "And I wouldn't worry about trying to figure out where my language comes from. Again, I'd be stoked if you recognized it at all."

Hearing that Cyran didn't name the Haunting Blade was mildly surprising, but seeing the sort of character that Cyran is, C'Leena couldn't see him naming a technique the 'Haunting Blade' unironically. I mean, it's not haunting anything. It's just stabbing someone really fast. I guess you make that person haunt something cause they're dead. Jeez, I'm really grasping at straws here. She passively thinks to herself, rubbing the back of her neck.

"How I learned it? Uh, would you believe through a book?" She asks, chuckling softly. "Hadn't seen it before, and me and my gal had been travelling pretty much everywhere. Looked incredibly useful, so I picked it up and spent a few days getting it down pat. Haven't used it, and I'm beyond thankful for that, but it's good to know, at least."

She had always been adverse to killing, but there have been a few times where she had done exactly that. One time was an ambush, and the other was the incredibly smart idea of barging into a volcano alone and going on a massacre all by her lonesome. She was convinced that her Life Link enchantment on her rapier was the only thing that kept her alive. That, and magic in general.

"So, might I ask what you're doing in the middle of the forest?" She asks, simply trying to make conversation. If this guy is going to stick around, she can at the very least get to know him. He seems nice enough, despite the villain eye he's got going on. C'Leena passively runs her fingers across the denim of her jeans, pleased to no end about feeling the material after years of feeling absolutely nothing. Thank fuck for magic.

“Very well, then. C’leena it is.” He nodded, still quite stumped that he couldn’t figure out where the young doctor’s manner of speech originated from. 'I’d be stoked if you recognized it all…’ it didn’t sound like she was trying to insult him, more like she was stating a fact. That single statement rang alarm bells in his mind, though he didn’t pry. He merely filed that information away for later, categorizing it with the information he’d gleaned on C’leena. Even while off the clock, the assassin was used to gathering information, learning and observing, even if he never quite made use of that knowledge.

He remained silent, listening as C’leena moved on, describing where she’d learnt the ‘Haunting Blade’ technique. How in the world had it already made it to a book? No, he wasn’t going to puzzle over the logistics of this today. That would just give him a headache. “A book? That’s… interesting.” He supposed he’d been in the business long enough that his moves could be found in publications, though he didn’t particularly enjoy that his name was tied to these techniques. Cyran was generally careful enough to ensure that any of his work was tied to his assassin moniker, the Specter. Idly, he wondered what novel C’leena had read of him in. Simply asking would probably open up to questions, though, so he would drop the subject for now.

“You picked it up only in a few days? Goodness, you must be rather talented with a blade. It took me years to hone my own technique.” He huffed out a small laugh. “I guess that’s the crux of being older. The younger generation will always pick up what you’ve made and perfect it faster than you ever could.”

He hummed, the smile sliding off his face as he suddenly turned serious. “And I hope you never have to use it. That move… I taught it to others with the intent of protecting my goddaughter from harm. It’s meant as a last resort for someone caught in a dangerous situation in need of an escape. I sincerely wish that the move remains nothing but a theory to you.”

That was all he could ask for… a small hope when the world was so perilous. Earthquakes ravaging the world, cultists everywhere, countries falling apart after what happened with the Sol Stone. It was too much for him to wish for it all to stop. All he could to was spread his techniques to others, to prepare them for the cruel world that lie in front of them, and hope that they never needed such methods of self-defense.

He was tempted to ask to see a demonstration of the technique, mainly out of curiosity, when C’leena quickly changed the subject. He blinked, tapping at his chin. “What am I doing in the woods? Same as anyone might be doing, really. I’m just passing through in my travels, and these trees make for a good hiding place for camp.” It was mere coincidence that he’d stumbled upon C’leena, really. “What brings you here?”

"Oh, nonono, I mean I got the basics of your technique down. I'm still working at it. It's rather complex, but I think I'm wrapping my head around it. I'm not used to the speed and precision that the technique calls for; I usually aim for precision and playing mind games. That, and once I actually do get my head around it, It'll need to be tweaked further for it to work best for me.

"I'm sure you noticed, but these ain't real." She raises both her hands and shakes them a bit. "Since they ain't real, I can't feel though them.. Normally. That meditation technique as well as some really fucken complex magic bullshit is slowly but surely getting my touch back. That's nice." She rambles on before catching herself. "Ah, fuck. Rambling, sorry."

She listens to Cyran and his reasons for forming the technique, and she nods. "Bloody good reason." She pauses, lingering on his hopes that she never has to use it. For some reason, C'Leena doesn't believe his wishes will come true. "I hope so too. You know of the whole cultist bullshit in the Ashlands, yeah? Nicking people for some fuckoff reason and bringing them to a volcano?" C'Leenas posture dips a bit on the subject, either regretful or uncomfortable.

"Well, they decided to kidnap my gal one night, and me and my impeccable judgement decided it was a good idea to raid that entire place.. Alone. In the end, I got Nephele, I managed to live thanks to the Life Link enchantment and a lot of clever uses of Replicant and Cloak of Shadows - Which doesn't appear as a cloak of shadows when I use it? Weird shit, it looks like nebulas and space, but it dims when I'm in a shadow so it still does it's job. Magic is so strange and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all." She quickly devolves into another tirade, her ADHD deciding to come in and kick her in the jaw.

Stopping her second ramble, she listens to Cyran again with his reasons on being here. It makes sense, him just travelling. "Honestly, I wasn't expecting anybody to turn up, so I came here for the quiet, and because Nephele knows to find me here. Wait, shit did I forget the fucking ring in the Inn?" Suddenly, C'Leena flicks her wrist to her side, and what appears to be a rip in reality itself opens up¹ and she begins looking through it. The rip itself is a rippling tear, with the inside appearing as large gas clouds colored Red, Blue and Purple, as well as thousands upon thousands of stars.

A few moments later, she pulls out what looks to be a small silver ring with 3 obsidian stones embedded. A large stone sits in the center, and 2 smaller ones sit to either side. There also appears to be engravings on the inside of the ring, but Cyran wouldn't be able to read it from this angle. The word 'Petal' is visible, but nothing else. "Oh thank Jesus Fucken Christ." She puts a hand over her heart and takes a deep breath, before placing the ring back into the rip. It closes itself and everything appears as normal, as if nothing just happened.

Cyran nodded in understanding at her explanation. It was true that the move was a bit tricky to pick up, especially when it came to the precision cuts required to deal massive amounts of damage. Not to mention it had been designed primarily for dual wielders… not to say it could not be adapted to sword users such as C’leena, as his own goddaughter Cirice had managed to learn the move with Crestfallen. Cyran tapped on his chin, unable to resist giving a bit of his own advice. “The key to the trick is to aim for vital points, not leaving deep cuts. Funnily enough, I actually learned accuracy from a surgeon’s notes.”

He wasn’t sure what kind of doctor C’leena was, though given her credentials as a medic he could only assume that she had the basics of humanoid anatomy down. Cyran pulled himself off of the tree he’d been leaning against, pulling something out of his pocket - a bottle of what looked like blue slime. Without preamble, Cyran dumped the slime from the glass vial to his open palm, shaping it into a dagger.^[1] He held the fake in his hand, mimicking the slashing motions that one might use with a longer blade. A zig-zagging pattern, one-two, three, from the neck, to the chest, before spinning around and slashing at the thigh.

… That should be possible with her rapier.

Cyran straightened, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. “At least, that’s how I would go about it with your weapon. The speed itself comes with practice. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to see a demonstration of what you’ve learned.” He paused. “Er, that is, if you’re comfortable, of course! Feel free to ignore an old man’s ramblings.”

He fell silent, electing to listen C’leena describe the meditation technique, and her artificial limbs. He had to admit, he’d never seen prosthetics that realistic. Nor had he heard of magic capable of bringing sensation back into what had once been lost, though he was hardly an expert in the healing arts. Cyran’s experience with magic was limited to that which was only capable of destruction.

But he understood there was a price.

There was always a price.

“Fascinating.” He murmured, watching her wiggle her hands in the air. “I’ve never heard of magic like that. Where did you learn meditation capable of that?” He seemed genuinely curious about what she was describing - though before he could ask more, C’leena brought up the cultists.

Cyran recoiled, as if he’d been physically stricken. His single eye widened, shoulders coiling with simmering tension.

“I remember.”

He remembered the gray-robed figures that had taken Del while he’d been away from the orphanage. He remembered the grief, the feeling that he’d failed her. He remembered chasing after her with the same reckless abandon C’leena was describing, as if nothing mattered in that moment but saving the love of his life.

“I’m glad you managed to get your gal… Nephele… back.” He cleared his throat, quickly trying to regain his composure. He wouldn’t allow himself to break down in front of a stranger. “I live in the Ash Lands, actually. They took someone close to me as well.” Absentmindedly, he twisted the metal ring on his finger, gaze faraway. “Nasty business, it is. I would normally admonish someone for being reckless in a situation like that, but truly, I am in the same situation as you.”

He looked up just in time to catch her patting herself down, frantically searching for something, before pulling out a gemstone covered ring.

“That’s a pretty ring.” He observed with a small smile. “You must love her a lot.”

---

1. Shaping Putty

"A surgeons notes, huh? Yeah thats fair. Unique way of using those notes, but if it works." Back on earth, she was a Prosthetist, someone who worked on mechanical limbs for people. Despite that position and with the advancement of technology, she was also qualified for surgery, so she had first hand experience with human anatomy. "The form I use focuses on that as well. Little cuts that bleed a hell of a lot. I tend to go for attacks that would immobilize, such as the Achilles tendon or something of that sort."

C'Leena watches curiously and pays close attention to Cyrans movements. The fluid that morphs into a blade is quite curious, and she already feels a million and one questions cropping up about it, but she holds her tongue for now. She takes mental notes on how Cyran moves. Minus the spin, that might kick her in the ass down the line. "Interesting." She comments.

"I learnt the meditation from Nephele, actually! I don't know if I can say where she learnt it, but it functions kind of like nerve therapy. Cause I got inscriptions that give me very limited touch, and the meditation helps enhance what is already there. It's slow going, but progress is being made."

The subject of the cultists crop up, and Cyrans reaction concerns her. With how he reacts, she begins to think that maybe he didn't get them back. Since it's a touchy subject - for him more so, she opts not to ask, instead simply says "I'm sorry. I'm happy to lend an ear if you want to talk, man."

Moving swiftly on, Cyran points out the ring, which C'Leena looks at with a smile. "Yeah, I really do. She's saved my life in ways I don't think I could really mention. If it werent for her, I probably would of.. Given up." The meaning behind 'given up' is painfully obvious as C'Leena shifts slightly. She looks embarrassed, almost. "But I plan on proposing soon. Fey have different traditions for this that I don't know nor understand, so I'm doing it the way I know. She told me that there is an abandoned church in Eclipse City, and she wants to bring me there and head up to the roof to see the stars. I think I'm going to do it then." 

As C'Leena talks about this, she idly fiddles with the ring with an almost dopey smile on her face. Rose would hopefully be proud of her. She looks beyond happy talking about her future proposal, but there is an undercurrent of anxiety along with it, which is to be expected.

"Oh, and you said something about demonstrating your form? Yeah, I could do that. Who better than to get tips from the creator himself?" She says, still smiling. She re-opens her space pocket and puts the ring in with unnecessary care, and pulls out a second rapier, also in it's scabbard. "The form is usually for two weapons, right? Thats the vibe I got from it." She attaches the scabbard to her opposite hip and draws both blades. Each blade has fine inscriptions down the length of the steel, clearly enchanted. She turns to her right, away from Cyran and shifts into her stance.

She's not used to using 2 weapons at once, so in reality she's actively learning two techniques at once, which makes everything much more difficult than it needs to be. She is, however, extremely stubborn when it comes to things like this. She sinks into a form low to the ground, takes a breath and lashes out in a burst of movement¹.

Despite her inexperience with two blades, her movements flow beautifully with one another, her moves almost having a show-y feel to them. The steel whistles through the air as she attacks an imaginary foe, stringing together jabs, slashes and feints together. To an inexperienced eye, it looks artful and practiced, but in reality, her grasp on Cyrans technique is basic at best. The basics are indeed down, but there is a lot to improve on.

---

1. Cyrans Haunting Blade

Cyran nodded appraisingly as C’leena described her style. Though the mention of something called the Achilles tendon gave him pause. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of that body part. Cyran was tempted to ask, but he figured the general gist of the move was the same as what he was visualizing. Cuts to vulnerable parts of the leg, intended to hurt and halt rather than kill. It was always a welcome surprise, he found, to meet someone with a value for life. He couldn’t afford himself that luxury. But the reminder that there were those who could was nice.

“Meditation to bring back nerve sensations?” He’d never thought about using meditative techniques like that. Cyran himself used a trance-like state to heal minor cuts and wounds - he wondered if he could apply what this Nephele had taught C’leena to his own approaches. He was no healer, but it was useful for cleaning himself up when he was on his own. More than that, it seemed to make C’leena truly happy to have this part of herself back. Cyran gave her a small smile. “I’m glad it’s been working wonders for you.”

The conversation turned… tense at the mention of the cultists. C’leena awkwardly tried to apologize, but Cyran waved her away before she could. “No, it’s okay. She’s okay, we both made it out alive. But it was a tense situation. I followed her and got there before they could do anything drastic.” He assured her. “The memories are just not that pleasant.”

Yes, much better to focus on happier things. Like this proposal that C’leena was describing. He didn’t know much about fae marriage traditions either, but it was clear that C’leena had put a lot of thought into this proposal. Her eyes were focused entirely on the ring in her fingers, not on Cyran at all - happy in that special way only young lovers could be. It was an exciting feeling, or so Cyran imagined… he’d married young, yes, but that had been an arranged situation.

“I wish you all the best.” His voice was warm, genuine. If Nephele loved C’leena half as much as the young doctor seemed to love the fae, then he had no doubt that they would find happiness. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

His eye widened as C’leena tucked away the ring with great care and love before pulling out a second blade. “Oh, yes, a demonstration. It’s intended for two blades, but it can be modified for one, if that’s your preferred fighting style.” He explained. “I designed the technique to protect myself… but when my goddaughter started learning the blade, I had to get creative about how to go about it.”

A smile drifted to his face at the memory of teaching Cirice the move. Her sword was a deadly one, but he would be remiss if he didn’t equip her with the tools to take care of herself, in case she was ever in a situation where she needed a quick escape.

C’leena herself was clearly accustomed to working with only one sword - though her footsteps were smooth and she was experienced with her rapiers, the movements were hesitant like someone who was not used to making these steps. She’d learned this much in only a few days, from a book? He couldn’t help but be impressed. A bright mind and finesse with a blade… Cyran already had two students himself, but if she ever needed a teacher he wouldn’t mind imparting what he knew. Though it was clear she had far more potential than an old bladesman such as himself.

Once she was done, he nodded, something akin to pride glimmering in the silver of his visible eye. “You clearly have a good grasp of its form and intent. And to pick up that much in a short time… I’m impressed.”

He pulled himself off of the tree, holding his palms outwards. This time, rather than the fake blade, he summoned two daggers to the open palms of his hands.^[1] For a moment, the air seemed to grow… darker around him. Shadows cast from the trees darted outward like snakes, reaching out to the assassin and snaking up his arms before coalescing into a pair of daggers. Both clearly enchanted. Noticeably, the dagger in his left hand looked like it had been broken once before, reformed with golden trim along the cracks that seemed to glitter in the soft afternoon light.

Spell Slicer and Cold Steel.

Cyran’s preferred weapons felt like home in his hands, the steel practically singing to him, begging to be used. Cyran nodded at C’leena, gesturing for her to watch. “The only issue is that you sacrifice speed for flourishes. The trick is to economize your movements, barely making any extraneous movements. Like so.”

He demonstrated with quick, darting movements, almost like a coiled snake darting from the tall grass to strike at its prey. Once, twice, three times.^[2] If someone had been standing in front of him, they surely would have been bled out by now.

---

1. Summon: Possession
2. Cyran’s Haunting Blade

Seeing this man smile genuinely and seemingly in support of her plans is strangely heartwarming. C'Leena smiles back, happy to have his wishes. "Thank you. Doesn't stop being extremely stressful, though." She chuckles and rubs the back of her neck anxiously. The mere thought of proposing was sending her stomach for loops and it really shows.

C'Leena nods, hearing that Cyran got their partner back. At least she assumes it was their partner, judging by his wording from before. "Glad you got her out, man. Shit's scary as all hell. Anyway, moving swiftly on." She says, preferring to drop this particular subject. The day was a rollercoaster in many ways that she'd rather not dwell on. Putting the ring away and pulling a second rapier from the tear and after she demonstrates her limited knowledge, she listens intently to Cyrans critiques and watches how he does it. Her mind and focus is arrested by him simply summoning his blades, but she redirects her attention to where it needs to be.

"Minor problem with the flair - I learnt my fighting style where blades aren't even largely used outside of showmanship. Sure, it works pretty well against people, but with how the fighting style actually works, flair is a core principal." She pauses for a moment, an idea forming in her mind. "Odd question, but would you be keen for a spar? I can show you what I mean, and you can probably kick my ass six ways to Sunday and maybe we can share moves?"

She knows she's about to get her ass handed to her on a silver platter; Cyran looks like he knows what he's doing AND made his own fighting technique, for god sakes. She hopes that she has a bit of a leg up when it comes to range and an unfamiliar fighting style. It's not much, but it might be enough to even it out a bit.

Cyran tilted his head at the mention of her swordsmanship being exclusively learned from a style focused on flair. What style could that possibly be? It seemed impractical, especially from a combat standpoint. It occurred to him that perhaps it was not a style meant for combat, but one meant for ceremony that C’leena had adapted into a fighting style. “Where did you learn? Perhaps I’m familiar with the style… either way, I don’t think it would be entirely impossible for you to adapt the, uh, haunting blade to your technique, but I’d need to get a better sense for how you fight first.”

Was he getting ahead of himself? Without realizing it, Cyran had slipped into instructor mode - it was the same approach he took with his own students, but only after he spoke he realized that he might be overstepping his bounds. Those worries were thankfully quelled when C’leena made a proposition.

“A spar?” He hummed, tapping his chin. He rarely had the opportunity to spar - usually, he only did so whenever Seiya requested it, if only because the assassin wasn’t used to nonlethal battle. But he admired her potential and wanted to help her grow, if he could. And he was excited at the prospect of learning a new, unfamiliar style. Cyran twisted the blades in his hands, nodding his assent. “I’d love to learn from you as well.” There was a slogan he’d learned, once, in a parenting book he’d read when Marlow was a tot - you couldn’t teach someone yourself without being open to be taught in turn. C’leena insisted that he was more skilled than herself, but there was an assuredness to her movements and a stubborn confidence that he could benefit from.

And C’leena would soon learn just how fast Cyran really was.

An assassin was accustomed to speed - it was necessary to finish the fight as quickly as it started to minimize the damage to himself and ensure the target’s death as quickly as possible. That wasn’t the goal now, not when C’leena was trying to observe him in combat. He moved quickly, every movement efficient and purposeful, both blades like a deadly dance through the air, steel so quick that it seemed to sing. Though he attacked with both hands, neither blade seemed to be lacking from the other in dexterity. A perk of being ambidextrous, he supposed. And his footwork matched his bladework with seemingly effortless, quiet grace across the grass.^[1]

Ebb and flow, darting closer to C’leena only to strike and retreat to the shadows - he pulled his punches, making sure not to actually cut at her or do anything more than graze her with the side of his blades. He was careful not to accidentally cut her with Spell Slicer and trigger the anti-magic enchantment and prevent her from casting any spells.

After all, he was using magic of his own.

The shadows stirred around him, providing him cover to hide in or even the occasional burst of dark energy whenever C’leena got out of his range.^[2] He was experienced, good at ending fights quickly… but it would become obvious to C’leena that endurance was his weak point. The longer he went on for, used his magic, the more it began to exhaust him. With those rapiers, she might even get a couple of blows on him where he couldn’t dodge fast enough. When someone got close enough, Cyran actually had quite little in the way of defending himself. And C’leena could actually give him a run for his money.

He needed to throw her off her rhythm, catch her off guard. Cyran would wait for her to thrust at him with one of her rapiers before dropping his daggers to the ground, completely disarming himself. Once he was empty-handed, he would step to the side, snaking his arm around hers and hitting her right in a sensitive spot at a collarbone - with her prosthetics it was difficult to tell if it would trigger the right nerves, but he hoped it would daze her enough to get her to drop her weapon.^[3] Only then did he hold his hands out once more, summoning his daggers back to his palms and retreat into the shadows.^[4] C’leena wouldn’t be able to make out where he’d gone in the darkness, no matter how hard she’d looked - not until the moment that Cyran reappeared in her own shadow, a dagger pointed at her throat.^[5]

A good match.

---

1. Cat's Grace
2. Chaos Bolt
3. Viper Dance
4. Summon: Possession
5. Shadow Walk

C'Leena smiles as Cyran accepts her proposition and draws her rapiers. She might as well practice with two blades during this. Without preamble or warning, Cyran almost blinks into engagement, immediately starting the spar with the ring of steel clashing. C'Leena barely makes enough space during Cyrans offensive to summon her cloak¹ and Replicant. Shimmering from her shoulders is a cloak that looks to almost be a window out of reality. Within the cloak are countless stars and nebulas, all brilliant colors ranging from reds to purples to blues.

C'Leena's fighting style is one intended for showmanship and ceremony, but the style in combat focuses heavily on mindgames and trickery. Feints, obscuring sight and doing the unexpected was the name of the game. Your enemy can't puzzle out your tactics if you're playing an entirely different game. C'Leena puts her cloak to fantastic use, and utilizing it's intangibility heavily. Both her and the Replicant have the cloak on and both versions of C'Leena are actively engaging Cyran.

C'Leena and the Replicant work in perfect sync with one another. Constantly keeping Cyran on his toes and having him unknowingly fight the Replicant instead of the real C'Leena, her style allows for endurance and punishes heavily on blunders and overextensions. While Cyran occasionally does nick C'Leena in the arms and once in the cheek, she doesn't let it stop her. C'Leena gets her own hits in, opting for taps with the flat of her blade instead of actual cuts and jabs.

C'Leena gets very into the fight, moving out of muscle memory and reacting accordingly. When Cyran gets her into an armlock and disarms her of one of her blades, she is almost thankful. Vanishing out of the hold², C'Leena appears behind Cyran and kicks him in the small of his back. Her metallic prosthetics his hard, and C'Leena feels bad for just a moment before remembering that they are still sparring. Getting back into her flow with a singular rapier feels natural and it shows in C'Leenas movements. She looks to be far more comfortable with a single blade and her movements flow much, much better than before.

At some point during the battle, a number of changes with C'Leena were made apparent. Firstly, her eyes have changed from that Aquamarine Gemstone to what looks to be normal eyes, if you ignore the brilliant gold irises. Second, is that there is a very faint halo on the opposite side of her head. The halo seems to always be opposite to the viewer, no matter the orientation of C'Leena. Finally, and the most jarring, are a pair of white feathered wings³ that are in no way connected to C'Leenas back. They simply float just off of her shoulder blades. Currently, they are folded behind her and shift out of the way to avoid contact with C'Leena.

As the fight goes on and the wings stay for longer and longer, fissures of what appear to be embers spread across the wings. It's slow going at first, but with time, the fissures spread to a point where open flames are licking at the feathers. Even this grows in severity before the wings eventually just burst into an inferno. Only now does C'Leena notice something is wrong as she looks over her shoulder and immediately freezes, just as Cyran places the blade to her throat.

There is only a few moments of C'Leena watching the burning wings with wide, terrified eyes before the wings vanish in smoke. The moment they vanish, C'Leena practically collapses to the ground, only kept up by her knees as she begins to hyperventilate and panic. A clear machine-like sound emanates from her with each inhale and exhale.

Externally, C'Leena just looks to be having a pretty bad panic attack, but in C'Leenas world, she's right back in the fire. The smell of smoke and soot, the agonizing heat and the pain of everything burning. Particularly, the loss of her eyes in that fire. It's so vivid for her that she can almost feel the pain and agony of the flames. She's back in her hell she cannot escape, reliving the same torture over and over again. The collapsing roof, the broken ribs and punctured organs - all of it wont leave her mind.

Cyran would recognize that something very, very wrong is happening. Of course, it looks like C'Leena is going through a panic attack, but there are inconsistencies that make it seem more than that. Her eyes are glazed over and she is nigh unresponsive. The halo remains on the opposite side of her head, slowly mending the wounds she accumulated throughout the spar, but not even that seems to be getting through to her.