The Seeker faced the maelstrom of swirling, prismatic mist with his back straight and his staff extended horizontally before him at eye level. Its lifeless metal was untarnished by the farrago of colours assaulting him so he kept his gaze locked upon it, using its truth to filter out the lies. He had diffused his breathing to a low susurration, each exhalation extending across several minutes, yet encompassing no more than eleven heartbeats. His master had attained seven beats in the ritual of the arhat’karra, but Aun’el Kyuhai knew he would never match such serenity. Nor would he ever ascend beyond his current station in the Ethereal caste’s hierarchy. That knowledge brought neither resentment nor sadness, for he had cast aside all desire save service to the Tau’va. All else was as illusory as the storm that raged around him.

And behind illusions prowled beasts…

They came for him together, springing from the mist in perfect synchronicity, one from behind, the other from his left, which they had identified as his weaker side. Traditionally their kind attacked in a cacophony of squawks and hoots, yet this pair came in silence, denying their prey any warning.

They are learning, Kyuhai approved. He spun to his left, thrusting his staff towards the dark shape flanking him, but it sprang away into the fog like a gangling acrobat. He felt a rush of air at his back as the other assailant’s blade hacked through the space he had occupied a moment earlier. The ferocity of the swing committed the attacker for a second too long, chaining it to the impotent arc as Kyuhai whirled his staff over his shoulder. It was a blind strike, but the displaced air had told him all he needed to know. When he entered the arhat’karra, every moment stretched into many and every whisper shouted.

‘Ka’vash!’ he pronounced as his staff brushed his opponent’s throat. Had the weapon’s blades been extended it would have been a killing blow. Before his foe could offer the ritual response, the second beast lunged from the fog, its cranial quills erect with rage. Beady, deep-set eyes glared at him from either side of a prognathous, serrated beak. The creature was naked save for a leather tabard and its sinewy form was riddled with tribal tattoos and piercings. This time it didn’t attack in silence.

Rukh expects defeat, Kyuhai recognised as he swept his staff around to meet the avian warrior’s scimitar. When Zeljukh falls, Rukh always falls with her.

The creature struck in a whirlwind frenzy that would have overwhelmed a lesser foe, yet none of its blows passed the gliding, almost languid parries of Kyuhai’s staff. To the Seeker the onslaught was akin to an infant’s tantrum, but he allowed it to run its course. Perhaps it would be instructive.