The rectangle of duel tightened like the jaws of a trap. Everything inside turned crisp—colors sharper, air heavy with ink, even Lena’s heartbeat ticking like a metronome. Outside, chaos still reigned: villagers shouted names like battle cries, ravens folded into glyphs and dove, Kael tangled shadows into ugly knots, Mireya beat the earth with off-key rhythm, Dominic’s fire flared steady as a promise.
But within the rectangle there was only silence, Lena, and the Reviser.
---
The Reviser’s Poise
He stood as though born in margins, the quill poised lightly in his hand, coat straight, hair combed by neatness itself. His face was expressionless, a parchment waiting to be written upon.
He did not speak. He wrote.
FALL.
The word snapped at her knees like a whip. Gravity twisted to obey,
