Page 40 of Unseen Eye
Callon stands before me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. “Are you ready Eva?” he asks, his voice calm and even.
I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.
My mind races, and I feel my body start to tremble. He is going to kill me. No one is going to stop this. Everyone is too afraid to speak up. After all I’ve been through, this is how I die. Yet, the hopeless romantic in me can’t help but notice this is the first time he used my name. I could easily get used to him saying my name over and over.
I force a smile, trying to mask my terror with sarcasm. “Oh, Callon. Fighting a girl in a dress? Isn’t that a bit beneath you?”
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You’d be surprised. Dresses can be quite deceiving. At least you don’t have heels.” His voice is light, but the tension between us is palpable. The crowd is silent, watching our exchange with bated breath. I close my eyes, blocking out the murmurs of the crowd and focusing on the memory of the light, the warmth that surged through me.
As Callon draws his sword, he doesn’t immediately attack. Instead, he circles me, his eyes never leaving mine. “Let’s see if you can actually summon that light,” he taunts. “Or is it just a party trick?”
“I think we both know the answer to that,” I retort, thememory of that night—so distant now—flashing in my mind. My grip tightens around the hilt of my sword, trying to drown out the noise in my head and focus on him. Watch his shoulders, Kendry’s voice echoes in my mind. That’s where the real intent lies.
Callon feints to the left, and I raise my sword just in time, but it’s sloppy, too slow. “Pathetic,” he sneers, his eyes narrowing. “You think you can protect anyone like that?”
His words sting, pissing me off. I steady my stance, recalling everything Kendry drilled into me. A flicker of doubt crosses my mind—What if he’s right? —but I shove it aside. “Is that all you’ve got?” I bite back, my voice betraying a hint of the fear I’m trying to hide.
He smirks, circling me lazily before lunging again, his blade a blur of silver. I barely block it, and his laughter rings out, sharp and cruel. “Is this really the best you can do? You’re supposed to be Astermiri’s savior?”
I catch my breath, heart pounding. The crowd’s silence presses in on me, the weight of their expectations heavy. My pulse thunders in my ears, but then something shifts. The world around me starts to slow. A calm settles over my mind.
Focus, I tell myself. Watch. Move.
Callon makes another half-hearted strike, easily evading my attempts to retaliate. “You’re nothing but a disappointment,” he says coldly. “Useless.”
Fucking Bastard. “Well, if this is your idea of a fair fight, I’d hate to see how you handle an actual challenge,” I snap, trying to keep my composure.
His words cut deep, but they also spark a defiant anger within me. I won’t let him break me. I grit my teeth and push forward, determined to prove him wrong. Our movements become a choreographed sequence, each step precise and deliberate. He swings his sword, and I block instinctively, the clash resonatingin the silent field. The crowd gasps, the tension thickening.
Callon’s strikes come faster now, testing my limits. I counter each one, my movements growing more confident. He feints left. I anticipate it, swiftly adjusting my stance. He’s forced to step back, a glimmer of surprise in his eyes.
“Not bad,” he mutters, but I can see he’s holding back, waiting for the right moment. His next strike is a low sweep, and I leap over it, spinning around to deliver a swift lunge toward his chest. He barely deflects it, his eyes widening in genuine surprise.
“Such an evil little thing,” he purrs, but there’s no time to retort. He’s on me again, his strikes faster and more aggressive. I counter each one, my resolve strengthening with each exchange.
It feels like an eternity, this battle of wills and skill. My muscles ache, and fatigue starts to set in, but I push through, drawing on reserves I didn’t know I had.
Callon’s sword crashes against mine, sending a jarring shock through my hands. I stumble back, struggling to stay upright. His movements are sharper now, more precise—he’s not playing anymore. My heart pounds as I see it: the shift in his eyes. The calm, calculated gaze hardens. He’s stopped holding back.
In one swift motion, he knocks the sword from my hand. Before I can even think, I’m on the ground, breathless and staring up at him. His sword is raised high, the cold gleam of steel reflecting the dim light. For a split second, I’m sure this is it. This is how it ends.
The blade swings down, and instinct takes over. I raise my hands, screaming from some primal place inside me. A surge of energy bursts out, a force I can’t control. I hear the clash of power before I feel it—like a storm roaring to life from inside my very bones.
Callon is thrown back by the explosion. The field goes silent. The gasps and murmurs of the crowd are distant, barely registering over the ringing in my ears. My vision spins—awhirlwind of searing light and looming shadows. For a moment, I don’t know if I’m alive. Did I just do that?
Then, through the haze, Callon stands, bloodied but steady. I expect anger—rage, even—but instead, his expression is calm. Almost impressed. He strides over to me, his gaze fixed on mine.
To my utmost surprise, he extends his hand.
I stare at it, bewildered. He was just about to strike the killing blow, and now he’s offering to help me up? My chest heaves, the disbelief almost too much to process.
“Forget how to land the killing blow?” I ask, my voice ragged, sarcasm barely masking the fear and confusion.
“Defenseless women aren’t my type,” he says casually, like he didn’t just nearly take my head off.
I hesitate, my heart pounding in my ears, but then I reach out.
Our hands touch.
