Aemon moved first.
Not because he had a plan.
Because his body had to move.
He lunged forward, foot slamming into the ground, arm drawn back for a punch fueled more by instinct than technique. Baz didn't flinch. He ducked the swing with a lazy twist of his shoulders, letting Aemon's fist cut through empty air.
"Too slow, shadow boy," he said, grinning.
Aemon turned with the momentum, trying to elbow Baz in the ribs, but again—nothing. Baz weaved, smooth as silk, boots gliding across the floor like they never touched it.
Then Baz struck.
A flick of his wrist. A blur of motion.
Aemon didn't even see the hit coming.
Just felt it—sharp pain under his chin, a blinding crack of light as Baz's knuckles connected. Aemon flew back, landing hard against the concrete, ears ringing.
"Don't feel bad," Baz said, stretching his arms like he was warming up. "I've had years. You've had… what, hours?"
Aemon spat blood.
Get up.
He pushed himself to his feet, legs trembling. His pulse pounded in his skull. Baz was circling him now, casual and cocky, eyes glittering under the flickering ceiling light.
"You've got juice," Baz said, "I can feel it. That little crackle under your skin? That's the hum of something new."
Aemon didn't respond. He tightened his stance. Balanced his weight. Remembered how his father trained him, once—sparring in the backyard before everything fell apart.
"Good," Baz said, grinning. "Make me sweat."
Aemon feinted left, then threw a low kick. Baz caught it with a sweep of his arm and shoved him off-balance again. Before Aemon could recover, Baz blurred.
Literally.
He flashed, just for a moment, like his whole body had been made of light. He vanished from one side of the room—and reappeared beside Aemon in less than a blink.
A knee slammed into Aemon's ribs.
He gasped, the air punched from his lungs, and stumbled back, barely keeping his feet.
Baz winked. "I love resonance tricks, don't you?"
"You're fast," Aemon choked out.
"Light speed, baby. It's called Lumen. Light element. I bend it, ride it, and if I feel generous, I let others see it."
Aemon gritted his teeth. "I don't care what it's called."
Baz's smile widened. "You will."
Then he blurred again.
But this time, Aemon was ready—sort of.
Baz reappeared behind him, aiming a punch at the back of his neck.
Aemon didn't think.
He felt.
A lurch in his chest. A crackle behind his eyes. A pull, like gravity flipped.
Suddenly—
He wasn't where he'd been.
He was across the room.
The air where he'd stood twisted, bent, then snapped shut with a sound like a door slamming in a windstorm.
Baz's punch swung through air.
He stopped cold. Looked around.
Saw Aemon, wide-eyed and panting, staring at him from fifteen feet away.
"Well, well," Baz said slowly, raising his brows. "That wasn't reflexes."
"I didn't…" Aemon gasped. "I didn't mean to do that."
Baz's grin returned like lightning. "Don't lie. It was beautiful."
Aemon's mind spun. He hadn't moved—he'd shifted. One second he was one place, and then... gone.
"I teleported," he whispered.
Baz nodded, almost impressed. "Resonance response. Your body reacted before your brain caught up. You've got a rare one. Spatial displacement? Haven't seen that in years."
He tilted his head. "Same category as me, though. Light and space? Different flavors of the same cake. You're a Blink."
"A what?"
"Slang for your kind," Baz said. "Bouncers, Blinkers, Jumpers. You don't move through space—you cheat it."
Aemon's hands were shaking. But his heart—his heart was steadying. Something had clicked. Whatever had awakened inside him was awake now, and it had no interest in staying still.
Baz wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're lucky I'm feeling generous. Usually I beat down the trespassers who don't pay tax."
Aemon narrowed his eyes. "I don't owe you anything."
"Oh, you do now," Baz said, cracking his knuckles. "You've got talent. And I've got curiosity."
He blurred again.
But this time, Aemon anticipated the motion. The moment Baz vanished, Aemon let that hum behind his ribs swell, opened himself to it—
And blinked.
He reappeared to Baz's right just as the gangster dropped out of his blur mid-strike. Aemon lashed out, fist connecting with Baz's jaw.
The hit landed clean.
Baz stumbled, surprise flashing across his face before it melted into something almost gleeful.
"You do learn quick," he said, rubbing his jaw.
Aemon was already panting. Teleporting—it wasn't free. It drained something in him. Like his body was being stretched too far, then snapped back together. His muscles ached, his bones rang.
"You've got the basics," Baz said, pacing slowly now, more like a predator than a showman. "But no control. No direction. If I went full tilt, you'd be unconscious in thirty seconds."
"Then why haven't you?" Aemon asked.
Baz stopped.
And smiled.
"Because this just got interesting."
He flicked his hand out. Light gathered in his palm like molten gold. It twisted and split, forming sharp tendrils that danced around his arm.
"You've got potential, Blink," Baz said. "But potential doesn't mean much without pain."
The light arced down his arms like liquid fire. His shadow stretched behind him, flickering with every pulse.
Aemon tried to gather himself again. Every fiber of his being was on edge. His resonance buzzed like it had its own heartbeat. The teleportation felt... primal. Not something he could guide yet, but it answered when he was desperate. When he needed to move.
And right now, facing down Baz in this tight room, with glowing tendrils wrapping around the man's arms like fire serpents—he was very, very desperate.
Baz cracked his neck. "You've got the reflexes of a newborn fawn, and the power of a rare breed. I'd be a fool to kill you before I see what you can really do."
"Then stop playing games," Aemon growled.
"Oh, it's not a game, kid."
He raised his arms. The light in his palms swirled brighter, casting the whole room into a blinding white.
"It's art."
Aemon blinked, bracing for impact, resonance humming to life like a storm surge.
Baz lunged.
And the real fight began.