(CONTINUED FROM CHAPTER 11)
The skies flushed with clear blue.
The hills shimmered, fresh with drizzle.
And then, the mist began to thicken — soft, alive, almost listening.
Tamara stormed through it, her golden threads tinged with red, throbbing like pulse veins.
Every memory of Kodo's bruised chest, of Tom bound and trembling in Shizumanam, burned behind her eyes.
She already knew who was responsible.
And she was done watching.
On the mist-curtained terrace, Eiroh stood still — face blank, hand holding the fading sigil.
His crimson threads flickered around him like quiet serpents.
When the silvery threaddoor creaked open, he smirked and snapped the comm line shut.
The barrier flared — crimson and soundless — sealing the terrace in.
Tamara stepped through the door.
Her anger and grief fused into a single breath.
The mist curled around her ankles like smoke from a storm about to begin.
Eiroh: "Welcome, Tamara of Anukan. I see your threads didn't let me down."
Tamara: "You planned this, didn't you? Because of you —"
Her golden threads flared.
Eiroh (mock surprise): "Did I? Or did your ripple-boy lure you here by bleeding too much?"
Her heart slammed once. The gold deepened with red fire.
Tamara: "You used them. Kodo. Tom. You used them to get to me."
Eiroh tilted his head, smirking.
"Kodokuna? The ripple-boy who doesn't even know what Circle he belongs to?"
Her fists tightened, but her threads stayed calm — orbiting like small suns around her.
"You bound Tom with crimson force," she said. "He still has tremors. His threads haven't healed."
Eiroh: "Barely touched the idiot. It was a lesson — for loyalty, for pain.
But it worked, didn't it? You came running. Look at you — storm-blood humming at the edge."
The air grew heavy, charged.
Eiroh (coldly): "They were resonance triggers, princess. Nothing more. And look — here you are. I needed to confirm your thresholds."
Tamara: "You're not here to test me. You're here to break me."
Eiroh: "Don't pretend you're not curious. You've seen it — the way your threads ripple wider than they should. Something's off in you."
She froze. Just a heartbeat. Recognition flickered — like remembering a wound you never looked at.
Eiroh circled her slowly.
"Your teachers know it too. They won't say it aloud. You twist resonance itself."
Tamara: "And you think if you push me far enough, I'll give you proof?"
Eiroh: "I don't think. I calculate."
Tamara: "Why now? Kazan Trials are days away."
Eiroh: "Some things can't wait. Especially when a thread starts to destabilize."
Tamara: "So you trap people and hurt them, just to feel in control?"
Mist and silence wrapped them tight.
Tamara: "You won't get what you want. I won't break for your records."
Her golden threads pulsed — not attacking, just drawing a boundary.
But Eiroh's smile cut wider.
Eiroh: "Then I'll make you fight. Let's see what you do when your storm has no one left to protect."
Crimson threads hissed, lunging toward her.
She twisted aside; they sliced past her shoulder, leaving a shimmer of red heat.
She looked up. The crimson barrier sealed every path.
She had walked straight into his trap.
The terrace trembled.
Threads collided — light against blood.
Tamara inhaled once.
Her threads spiraled outward, steady — solar flares held by faith.
A gust tore through the terrace.
Eiroh's cheek bled a thin line.
Tamara: "I could unravel you where you stand."
Eiroh laughed. "Then do it, princess."
Crimson threads formed a wall, pulsing like a living heart.
"Let's see if that pretty little storm can drown a Noolzai blade."
He charged, his palms glowing red.
"Crimson Binding Spiral!"
The scarlet coil rushed toward her.
Tamara's eyes softened — not with fear, but memory.
She raised her palm.
"Veilfract Bloom."
A golden explosion unfurled, twisting his spiral mid-air into a radiant halo.
She stepped through it, golden threads dancing like ripples stitched with hope.
Eiroh fell to one knee, disoriented.
Tamara's threads wound gently around him — not to crush, but to see.
Beneath his crimson blaze she sensed a faint flicker — blue, trembling, hungry.
"You're starving for resonance, aren't you, Eiroh?"
Her threads tried to wrap those fading blues in warmth.
But Eiroh's rage burst open.
"Crimson Roar Spear!"
The spear screamed through the mist.
Tamara didn't retreat.
She whispered, "I'm not like you."
Her golden threads opened like petals.
The spear melted into light and scattered as a garland —
Veilfract Hanaphoon.
When the light cleared, Eiroh lay collapsed, gasping, humiliated but untouched.
Tears burned his eyes. "You think this is mercy? Damn you, fight like you mean it!"
Tamara knelt, smiling gently.
"No," she said. "It's warmer than that."
Her threads folded behind her like fading dawn.
She turned to leave.
"Come to class, crimson idiot," she said softly.
Eiroh stared after her — torn between hate, awe, and something quieter.
For the first time in years, he smiled without meaning to.
Then the crimson flicker in his eyes returned.
And the mist carried both their names away.