The snow fell slower between them now.
Not because the blizzard had eased, but because the battlefield between Lumina and Yuzuha had become a webbed vacuum—air displaced by threads, motion interrupted by tension.
The space felt wrong.
Lumina's eight red eyes narrowed in unison. Her legs shifted on instinct. The spider limbs on her back arched, twitching, sniffing the silence for vibration.
Yuzuha moved like nothing had changed.
She glided left with the grace of falling paper. Her threads flicked and vanished midair. Some landed. Some never did. Some… never stopped.
Lumina dragged a hand through the cold, dragging a line of glistening web from her palm. She flicked it upward—a wall of glistening silver flared in a wide arc.
Yuzuha stepped back, completely unconcerned.
That wall didn't hit her.
It missed her.
Not because Lumina was off—but because her thread warped. Redirected mid-flight.
Lumina's lips parted slightly.
"That shouldn't have bent."
