CHAPTER 367: THEY ARE FOR YOU TO READ

Thalynae Silversong stood in the heart of the Life Tree courtyard, the great canopy above spilling dappled afternoon light down over the pale stone.

Every slow ripple of leaves high overhead caught the sun in different shades—muted golds, soft greens, and flashes of white where the light hit the silver-threaded edges.

The air carried that faint, living scent unique to the Life Trees, a cool greenness tinged with the sweet trace of blooming vines along the courtyard’s outer wall.

The light touched her hair and made it gleam like polished silver, every strand shifting with the breeze in a way that seemed more like water than anything solid.

She moved without hurry but never truly stopped—each step of her bare feet across the smooth stone was part of a continuous flow.

Her arms traced deliberate arcs through the space before her, wrists turning with quiet precision. The long folds of her gown whispered against the tiles.

Even the way the fabric slid over her hips and shoulders seemed in time with her movement, as though the cloth itself knew the rhythm and followed her lead.

The twins stood opposite her, silent and perfectly still in posture, but charged with energy.

Thalynae didn’t need to touch them to feel it—one radiated the grounded strength of a rock face before the moment of a landslide, the other the taut, quivering readiness of a bowstring drawn to its limit.

They were opposites, but not in conflict. Opposites in the way two different blades could still be forged from the same fire.

Her gaze moved between them, measuring the space, the stance, the way their breathing set the pace for their bodies.

"Again," she said. Her tone was smooth, not sharp, but nothing in it suggested delay was acceptable.

They stepped forward, closing the gap in an instant and launching into their drill.

It began the way it always did—one driving forward with sheer force, the other giving ground and circling in an effort to use speed to slip around the advance.

To an untrained eye, it might have looked fast, even dangerous, but Thalynae could see the fault in it.

The movements didn’t weave; they scraped against each other. Instead of becoming one strike, they became two separate ones colliding in the middle, the energy wasted in the clash rather than landing where it needed to.

"Stop."

She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t let it sharpen, but the way she held their eyes made them straighten immediately.

"Neither of you is here to win against the other," she said. Her words were calm, but the weight in them was undeniable.

"If your strikes keep meeting head-on, you’re burning twice the energy for half the result."

She walked toward them, her steps measured, the trailing hem of her gown sliding over the stone.

When she reached them, she didn’t lecture further. She simply took their arms in her hands—lightly, but with a steadiness that made it clear she could have moved them by force if she wished—and shifted their positions.

She turned a wrist here, angled a shoulder there, nudged a foot a fraction to the side. The adjustments were small but precise, the kind that changed the way the entire body carried the strike.

"Force does not cancel finesse," she said, her voice low but clear. "Finesse does not weaken force. You do not meet in the middle. You wrap around each other."

They reset. This time the pace was slower. The heavier twin drove her strike forward like the first roll of a wave, and the lighter one moved alongside it, flowing through the opening rather than backing away from it.

Their movements didn’t blend perfectly yet, but there was no grinding collision this time.

"Better," Thalynae said, and though it was only a single word, they knew it was a command to keep pressing forward.

The courtyard grew quiet except for the scuff of their feet and the low, precise sounds of her correcting them—sometimes a palm pressing a shoulder to square it, sometimes a fingertip tapping an elbow to adjust the angle.

A soft wind threaded through the high branches above, and the scent of the flowers along the walls lingered in the air, a sweetness at the edge of the focus-heavy space.

Gradually, the roughness began to ease. The heavy strikes set a shield and drew the eye, the precise ones slipping in under that cover, turning those blows into something sharper and harder to counter.

The quick cuts, in turn, opened paths for the heavier strikes to land with full force.

She didn’t praise them outright—just the occasional small nod, the faintest murmur of "Yes," when something clicked into place.

When she broke the sequence, it was abrupt but not unkind. "Mobility drills."

A small turn of her wrist, and the air around them shimmered. Light bled into shapes—spirit projections of forest beasts.

One crouched low, sleek and narrow like a shadow meant to hunt. Another stood tall, branching horns sweeping upward as it moved with a patient, dangerous weight.

More flickered into being, each with its own pace and movement—some circling slowly, others darting in bursts so quick they blurred.

"Their patterns are not for you to guess," Thalynae said. "They are for you to read."

The twins didn’t need further instruction. They split, the heavier one stepping toward the horned projection, her strikes measured to test the reach and make it shift, while the lighter one danced around a smaller beast that cut at sharp, unpredictable angles.

"Do not chase," Thalynae called out. "Make them move where you want them. Your ground is yours. Make them step into it."

The heavier twin’s footwork began to curve, angling the larger projection toward her sister.

The lighter one caught the intent without words, her own movements drawing her opponent in the same direction.

When the two spirit beasts crossed paths, the twins struck—one hitting from the front, the other sliding in from the flank.

The light shattered, projections dissolving into the air like mist in sunlight. Thalynae raised her hand again, and more shapes formed. "Again."

They moved through the next set, and the one after that, each time learning to pull the beasts’ paths tighter, to control the space rather than react to it.