Gilded Ashes Chapter 310: Showoffs

Impact.

The black blur hit the Nyx like a falling black star.

There was no collision. No struggle. No mont where the two shapes t and the outco was in question. One fra, the Nyx was hovering - wings spread, glowing eyes wide, mouth open mid-screech. The next fra, it just wasn’t there anymore.

The shockwave ca first. A wall of displaced air exploded outward from the point of contact - hard enough to bend the branches, hard enough to rip leaves from their stems, hard enough to hit Raizen in the chest from thirty ters away and force him back a full step. His right arm ca up on instinct, shielding his face. His left arm was already reached beside him, where Saffi turned sideways and braced. Across the platform, students stumbled. Kenzo planted his feet and crossed his arms over his face. Atman, still on one knee, ducked behind his own wall of smoke.

The sound followed - a deep, percussive boom that wasn’t loud so much as it was physical, like an enormous boulder splitting. Raizen felt it in his ribs. In his jaw. In the soles of his feet through the wood of the platform. It echoed off the trunks and ca back layered, overlapping with itself, filling the air for a full two seconds before it faded.

Then - silence.

Raizen lowered his arms.

Where the Nyx had been, there was nothing. No body. No smoke-feathers. No claws, no beak, no glowing eyes. Just empty air - and drifting through it, catching the pale morning light, golden ashes.

Hundreds of them. Tiny, weightless, floating on the currents left behind by the shockwave. They caught the shafts of sunlight filtering through the canopy and glowed - warm, soft, impossibly gentle for sothing born from that kind of violence. They drifted down slowly, like embers from a fire that had burned clean.

The Nyx was gone.

Not defeated. Not driven off. Obliterated. Reduced to particles in less ti than it took to blink.

And the thing that did it - the black blur - was already gone too. Raizen’s eyes tracked upward, following the trajectory, and caught the last trace of it. A thin red line hanging in the air where the blur had passed. Faintly luminescent. An Eon thread - delicate, precise, the kind of controlled output that suggested sothing far more refined than raw power.

It faded within seconds. Dissolving into nothing, like breath on a cold window.

Raizen heard wingbeats. Distant. Receding. Two, maybe three, heavy and rhythmic, the sound of sothing large gaining altitude fast. Then that was gone too.

The training platform was still.

Nobody moved for a long mont.

Then, slowly, the way sound returns to a room after a loud noise - murmurs. Shifting. The creak of wood as students straightened up, uncovered their faces, looked around at each other with the wide-eyed expression of people trying to confirm that what just happened actually just happened.

One of the students - a tall guy near the railing – Raizen recognized him. Raku, the guy with his construct a wolf with abnormally long fangs. How could he forget the beast standing right above him, pinning him to the ground?

Raku started clapping.

It was hesitant at first. A few slow claps, the kind that aren’t sure of themselves. Then soone else joined. Then a third. Within seconds, the entire platform was applauding - not the polite, asured clapping of an audience, but the raw, relieved, slightly hysterical clapping of people who just watched a problem get solved in spectacular fashion and needed to put the energy sowhere.

Raizen sighed. After every won fight – did applause really need to follow? Did people really want to clap so much?

But the applause wasn’t directed at the sky.

It was directed at Kenzo and Atman.

They were the ones standing on the platform. They were the ones who fought the Nyx - punched it, whipped it, grabbed it by the tail and thrown it. The students watched them do it. And the fact that the actual killing blow had co from sothing else, sothing none of them could identify, sothing that had appeared and disappeared in less than a second - that detail was already blurring at the edges of their minds. Already being absorbed into the simpler, more satisfying narrative of the two fighters handled it.

Raizen smiled. The crowd cheers louder for a hero than for the reason they won.

He rembered sothing kori once told him. "Raizen, listen. A hero is just a mirror we polish so we can admire what we wish we were."

Kenzo, breathing hard, coat still smoking faintly where the Nyx’s wing had hit him, looked at the applauding students.

Then he looked at Atman.

Atman, on one knee, smoke tendrils still curling around his forearms, looked back at Kenzo.

Sothing passed between them. Not a word. Not a gesture. Just a look - the specific look of two unrelated brothers who knew exactly what had happened, knew they hadn’t been the ones to finish the job, and were simultaneously arriving at the sa decision.

Kenzo straightened up. Rolled his shoulders. Put on the easy, confident grin that Raizen had seen him use a hundred tis.

"Well" he said loudly. "That was a warmup."

Atman stood. Dusted off his knee. Retracted his smoke with a casual flick of his wrists.

"Fortitude four-point-five" he said, shaking his head. "mhm, just like I said."

Saffi frowned. "Showoffs..."

The students cheered louder.

It was, without question, the most shaless thing Raizen had ever witnessed. These two n - one a decorated veteran, one of the strongest people in the world - and the other a lethal operative, one of the three founders of probably the most lethal facility on the continent - were standing near the golden ashes of a Nyx they hadn’t killed, accepting applause they hadn’t earned, and doing it with the absolute, unshakeable confidence of people who believed they deserved it.

Separately, they were brilliant. Serious. Calculated.

Together, they fought for a single brain cell, which was currently on vacation.

Kenzo waved to the students, giving a small, overly-dramatic bow. A professor shouted sothing about buying them drinks. Atman pointed at the person and said "I’ll hold you to that" with the energy of a man who’d just won a tournant.

Raizen watched from the edge of the platform, disappointed. Saffi stood beside him, arms crossed, wearing the expression of soone witnessing a cri she couldn’t report.

Golden ashes still drifted through the air around them. Soft. Slow. Fading.

Raizen looked up.

The sky was empty. The canopy had already closed around the gap the blur had torn through it. No trace remained except the mory of the sound - that high, thin whistle, like a subsonic projectile before impact - and the fading afterimage of a red line drawn through the air.

Black. Fast. A sar that moved like it had been built for speed and nothing else.

And a red Eon thread.

He’d seen that before.

Not here. Sowhere else. A different sky, a different fight, a different mont - but the sa color. The sa feeling. That specific shade of red, luminescent and controlled, trailing behind sothing dark, fast and impossibly precise.

The pieces were there. Scattered across different days, different places, different conversations. But they were there - and now, standing on a training platform, watching the last traces of the red thread dissolve into morning light, Raizen felt them start to move.

Sliding together. Clicking into place. One after another after another.

His eyes widened.