Iori's wrist had already committed, elbow dropping, shoulder rolling, the blade aimed straight for the crown of Kael's head like it was an execution block and not a street.
The motion was practiced, cruelly efficient. Even the other Sun Clan members had that tiny forward lean people get when they expect a clean finish.
Then the sound came.
Not the wet crunch of steel meeting bone, something brighter, sharper. A brittle snap that didn't belong to flesh.
"How unfun," the words echoed as if they were spoken by the world itself.
The dagger never landed.
The dagger shattered mid-fall, the metal splintering outward as if it had struck a wall instead of a coughing man. Fragments rang off the cobbles and skittered across the street, flashing once in the sun before losing their shine.
Kael was still folded over from the cough, shoulders jerking, breath dragged through blood. Yet the blade had broken around him, as if the air above his skull had decided it didn't allow weapons.
