You moved first. He followed.

Steel met steel, ringing through the Heights like the sound of a heartbeat.

To you, it was just sparring. To him—it was a vow.

Telamon’s every step traced devotion; every strike was worship dressed as war. He could not tell you what this meant, not without breaking the spell of it.

His kind never confessed in words. They built, they bled, they danced.

This was his courtship ritual.

You laughed when his blade grazed your sleeve.

He nearly forgot to breathe.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“You’re distracted,” you teased.

A faint, sharp smile ghosted his lips. A rare sight. “Only by you.”

And the next clash began.