The fissure's air crackled with tension, the cavern walls humming as if aware of the storm waiting to break. Clara stood in the center, her crimson blade trembling in her grip. The glow from her veins pulsed in rhythm with the Architect's whispers, steady and insistent.
Strike. See the truth of your strength. Only through conflict will you understand what you are.
Her jaw tightened. "If I test this… it has to be against someone who won't shatter."
The choice was obvious.
Clara turned toward Yurin. His unreadable face already seemed to expect her gaze. His threads uncoiled lazily around him like predators yawning before a hunt.
"Fight me," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "If I lose control… you can stop me. Can't you?"
Yurin tilted his head, crimson eyes narrowing with faint amusement. "I won't stop you, Clara. I'll only respond. If you lose control, it won't be me you should fear—it will be yourself."
Damien staggered forward, fire rising in panic. "Clara, don't—this is insane!"
Evelyn leaned against a boulder, eyes gleaming like a spectator in the best seat of a bloodsport. "Oh, please let her do it. This is the most fun I've had since I stole that bishop's horse."
Clara ignored them both. Her grip tightened, threads bristling as she squared her stance. "Then let's begin."
Yurin didn't speak. He simply raised his hand, and his threads surged forward.
The cavern exploded into motion.
Crimson lashes whipped toward her with surgical precision. Clara swung her blade, threads sparking against threads as if two storms had collided. The sheer pressure of their clash carved deep scars into the fissure floor, chunks of stone flying like shrapnel.
Clara gasped as she felt not just her own movement—but his. Her threads resonated against Yurin's, reading the cadence of his strikes like music notes she instinctively understood. For one terrifying second, she knew where he would strike before he moved.
The Architect's whisper purred. Do you see? His power is but an echo of ours. He is lesser, derivative. You are origin.
Clara's chest clenched. "Shut up." She pivoted, threads spiraling outward to deflect a dozen incoming strikes. Her blade swept upward, tearing a wave of energy that crashed into Yurin's defenses.
The impact shook the fissure, dust falling in choking clouds. Damien shielded his face from the debris, shouting hoarsely, "Clara, stop! You don't have to prove yourself like this!"
But Clara wasn't listening anymore. She could feel everything—the vibration of each thread, the weight of Yurin's gaze, the Architect's pulse echoing in her chest. Every strike came faster, harder, desperate not to lose herself but to prove she was still in control.
Yurin countered effortlessly, his expression calm, almost curious. His threads coiled around her blade mid-swing, locking it in place. "You're not fighting me," he said quietly. "You're fighting the fear that you're already gone."
Her breath tore from her throat. With a scream, she unleashed a surge of raw power, threads erupting in all directions. The blade shattered into radiant fragments, which re-formed instantly into dozens of smaller blades swirling around her like a storm.
Yurin's eyes widened a fraction—the closest he had ever come to surprise.
Clara raised her hand, voice cracking. "I am not the Architect!"
The storm descended.
Blades crashed into Yurin's defenses, shredding his threads layer by layer. For a moment, the cavern became a hurricane of crimson light, too bright to look at directly. The ground split further, a deafening roar rising as if the world itself were screaming in protest.
When the dust finally cleared, Yurin stood bloodied but upright, threads hanging in tatters. His gaze met hers—calm, steady, and unreadable.
"You've grown," he said simply.
Clara collapsed to her knees, her storm vanishing in a blink. Her hands shook violently, her chest heaving. She couldn't tell if the tears streaming down her face were hers or the Architect's.
Damien rushed to her side, catching her before she could fall forward. His arms burned with faint flame as if trying to cleanse her trembling body. "You're here. You're still Clara. That's all that matters."
But her voice cracked as she whispered, "I don't know if I proved control… or just proved I can destroy more than ever before."
And somewhere deep within her, the Architect laughed softly. Every test brings you closer to truth. And truth, Clara, is mine.
Yurin wiped blood from his lip, his gaze lingering on her with unsettling patience. For the first time, his expression softened—not with kindness, but with certainty.
"She is almost ready."