The impact echoed like a contained thunderclap.

Tiamat’s fist collided with Ouroboros’s raised forearm with enough force to compress the surrounding air, creating a short wave that sent the dust from the ground scattering in an abrupt circle. Neither recoiled. Neither hesitated. The shock wasn’t merely physical—there was something deeper there, something overflowing from both like an invisible pressure that made the very space unstable for a few moments after each blow.

Ouroboros’s black hair spread around her face like a living shadow, moving with every turn of her body, while Tiamat’s golden strands reflected the light almost aggressively, shimmering with each movement like constantly vibrating blades, difficult to follow even from a distance. Anyone observing from afar would have difficulty distinguishing where one began and the other ended—such was the speed and intensity of the confrontation.

Ouroboros advanced first.

Her movement was fluid, almost serpentine, her body leaning forward as she rotated her hips, launching a side kick aimed directly at Tiamat’s torso, but intercepted at the last instant by a solid block, immediately followed by a brutal counterattack.

Tiamat wasn’t fighting to test.

She was fighting to break.

Her fist came from below, charged with pure force, attempting to pierce Ouroboros’s defense as if she wanted to crush any resistance there, but Ouroboros recoiled half a step, dodging by centimeters, the wind of the blow still hitting her face and violently pushing her hair back.

They weren’t holding back.

Not at all.

Another impact.

This time, Ouroboros spun her entire body, using the momentum to launch a spinning elbow strike, aiming directly at Tiamat’s face. Tiamat tilted her head to the side at the last second, letting the attack graze her jaw before grazing the other’s arm and trying to pull her off balance.

But Ouroboros didn’t fall.

She adjusted in mid-air.

As if the very concept of balance were malleable to her.

And then, using Tiamat’s own strength against her, she spun her body again, breaking the grip and pushing her back with a sharp impact to the chest.

The two slid a few inches on the ground.

And then they stopped.

Controlled breathing.

Fixed gazes.

Neither of them seemed tired.

But there was something different there.

Something that wasn’t just fighting.

Tiamat was the first to speak.

"You’re different."

Her voice was firm, but it carried no provocation. It was pure observation, uttered between movements, as if it were just another variable being analyzed in the midst of combat.

Ouroboros didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, she advanced again, closing the distance between them in an instant, her fist coming in a straight line, quick, precise, forcing Tiamat to raise her arm to block—the impact reverberated through her body, but she didn’t retreat.

"Slower," Tiamat continued, dodging a second blow and counter-attacking with a low kick that Ouroboros jumped over with almost irritating lightness. "Less... insistent."

She spun her body again, trying to catch Ouroboros by the flank, but found only air.

"Less obsessed."

This time, Ouroboros stopped.

Not completely.

But enough.

She took a step back, her feet planting firmly on the ground as the movement around her slowed, her breathing still steady, but her gaze... slightly more distant than usual.

"You noticed quickly," she finally replied.

Her voice wasn’t cold.

But it also lacked the constant intensity that usually accompanied her.

It was... more controlled.

More measured.

Tiamat narrowed her eyes slightly.

"It’s hard not to notice when you stop acting like a lunatic."

The comment was direct.

Without gentleness.

But also without real malice.

Just... truth.

Ouroboros let out a small sigh through her nose, tilting her head slightly to the side while cracking the knuckles of one hand, as if releasing accumulated tension there.

"It’s been a while," she said, her voice low, almost reflective, something rare coming from her in that kind of situation. "Since before... some things."

Tiamat didn’t interrupt.

She merely observed.

Ouroboros continued.

"Something’s wrong."

She raised her gaze again, but not directly at Tiamat—as if looking through her, or perhaps at something that wasn’t physically present there.

"In my mind."

Silence.

The wind passed between them.

Carrying dust.

Carrying tension.

But not interrupting.

"It’s not... something external," Ouroboros added slowly, as if choosing each word more carefully than usual. "It’s not an attack. It’s not direct interference."

She brought her hand to her temple, pressing lightly with her fingers, as if trying to pinpoint the exact problem.

"It’s internal."

Tiamat crossed her arms for a brief moment, but then released them again, maintaining a relaxed posture, though clearly attentive now.

"Are you dealing with it?" she asked.

Directly.

Without beating around the bush.

Ouroboros nodded slightly.

"Managing," she replied. "Controlling... enough."

She paused briefly.

And then continued.

"But that’s not what worries me."

Tiamat tilted her head slightly.

"What is it, then?"

Ouroboros took a little longer to answer this time.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Not in irritation.

But in... concentration.

"My connection," she said finally.

Another pause.

A longer one.

"With the Spiritual World."

The name wasn’t spoken with weight.

But it carried importance.

It always did.

Tiamat didn’t react immediately.

But her attention intensified.

Ouroboros took a small step to the side, looking at her own fist for a moment before slowly closing it.

"Something... is out of place," she continued, her voice lower now, more introspective. "As if... it were there."

She raised her gaze again.

"But it wasn’t responding."

The silence that followed was denser.

More charged.

Tiamat completely uncrossed her posture now, taking a step forward, but not aggressively.

Closer... to the surface.

"Are you saying you lost the connection?" she asked.

Ouroboros shook her head immediately.

"No."

Short.

Firm.

"It still exists." Another pause.

"But it’s... wrong."

The word seemed to bother her.

As if it weren’t enough.

As if it didn’t fully explain what she felt.

"Misaligned," she tried again. "Unstable. As if something had... shifted."

Tiamat remained silent for a few seconds, absorbing it not as something distant, but as a real possibility.

And then—

She let out a small sigh.

"Then fix it."

Direct.

Simple.

No dramatization.

Ouroboros raised an eyebrow slightly.

"That’s all?"

Tiamat shrugged.

"Yes."

She tilted her head slightly, her golden hair moving gently with the gesture.

"If there’s something wrong with you... you fix it."

She paused briefly.

"Or it will harm you."

Ouroboros watched her silently for a few seconds, as if evaluating not the words, but the simplicity with which they were spoken.

And then—

She spoke again.

"Don’t you feel it?"

Tiamat frowned slightly.

"What?"

Ouroboros stepped forward.

"That connection," she said, her tone now more direct. "That... change."

Her eyes were fixed on Tiamat now.

"Don’t you notice anything... different?"

Silence.

Tiamat held her gaze.

Without hesitation.

Without looking away.

And then—

She answered.

"No."

Just like that.

Ouroboros blinked once.

As if she hadn’t expected such a direct denial.

Tiamat continued.

"The only thing I’m connected to..."

She paused briefly.

And then a slight smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

"It’s with Strax."

The name was spoken without hesitation.

Without weight.

But with absolute certainty.

Ouroboros remained silent.

Observing.

Analyzing.

Tiamat shrugged again.

"The Spirit World?" she continued. "It’s behind us."

Without regret.

Without doubt.

Just... a choice already made.

The wind passed between them again.

But this time—

Something had changed.

Not in strength.

Not in tension.

But in direction.

Ouroboros tilted her head slightly, her dark hair falling over part of her face as her eyes remained fixed on Tiamat, as if trying to understand not only what she said, but what it meant on a deeper, more structural level, something that couldn’t be measured by simple words or direct answers.

"Did you cut it off completely?" she asked, her voice lower now, less combative and more... investigative, as if she were dismantling a concept piece by piece.

Tiamat didn’t answer immediately.

She breathed.

Once.

And then spoke.

"I didn’t need to cut it off."

Another pause.

"I simply... stopped caring."

The impact of that answer wasn’t physical.

But it was real.

Ouroboros narrowed her eyes slightly.

Because that—

It was something she couldn’t replicate.

"How?" she asked, almost automatically.

Tiamat let out a small sigh through her nose.

"Because it no longer serves me."

Simple.

Direct.

Uncomplicated.

"I don’t need it to fight. I don’t need it to exist. And I definitely don’t need it to be by his side."

Ouroboros absorbed that in silence.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it carried weight, layers, implications that neither of them needed to verbalize immediately, because both were more than capable of understanding what was being said... and what was being avoided. The air around them still vibrated slightly with the remnants of the previous impacts, as if the space itself was still adjusting to the intensity of that exchange, but now there was something different there: no longer pure confrontation, but raw reflection, exposed without filters.

Ouroboros remained motionless for a few moments, her fingers still slightly closed, as if she had forgotten for a second that she was in the middle of a fight, or perhaps as if that had ceased to be relevant at that specific moment. Her eyes, once sharp and steady, now carried something more unstable—not weakness, but a kind of internal misalignment, as if part of her were elsewhere, trying to reach something that no longer responded in the same way.

She took a deep breath.

Slowly.

And released the air in a controlled manner, as if trying to stabilize not her body, but her own perception. "...to stop caring...", she murmured, more to herself than to Tiamat, as if testing the weight of that idea in her own mind, trying to fit it into something that made sense within her own framework.

But it didn’t fit.

Not completely.

Tiamat, on the other hand, had already moved. Not aggressively, nor defensively—just naturally, like someone who knew exactly where she was and didn’t need to question it. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she ran a hand through her golden hair, brushing some strands away from her face as she observed Ouroboros with a more direct, less analytical, and more... firm gaze.

"You’re overthinking it," she said, with an almost brusque naturalness, as if it were too obvious to require delicacy.

Ouroboros let out a small nasal sound, almost a humorless laugh, tilting her head slightly as her black hair cascaded down her shoulders like a liquid shadow.

"I always overthink," she replied, with a slight averted glance, as if recognizing it not as a flaw, but as an inevitable characteristic.

The wind passed between them again.

Lighter this time.

But still present.

Tiamat opened her mouth to reply—probably with something direct, simple, incisive—but didn’t speak.

Because something changed.

Not in the environment.

But in the presence.

It was subtle at first.

Almost imperceptible.

But both felt it.

Not as an invasion.

But as... a fitting.

A third point in that space.

And then—

He appeared.

Strax didn’t appear with an explosion, nor with impact, nor with any kind of dramatic entrance. He simply... was there. A few meters away, standing, with the same tranquil posture as always, as if he had been present all along and only now had decided to become visible enough to be noticed.

His eyes scanned them quickly.

Assessing.

Not the combat.

But the state.

The silence between the three lasted only a second.

Maybe two.

And then he spoke.

"It’s time."

His voice wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t imposing.

But it was enough.

Direct.

No room for unnecessary questioning.

Ouroboros blinked once, as if returning completely to the present moment, her shoulders adjusting slightly as her posture realigned almost automatically, like someone who recognizes an order not just as a command, but as a direction.

Tiamat didn’t need time.

She was already ready.

Her eyes moved from Strax to Ouroboros, and then back, as if merely confirming what was already obvious.

She nodded.

Once.

Simple.

"Let’s go," she said naturally.

But before moving, she looked at Ouroboros again.

This time... differently.

Not like someone assessing an opponent.

But like someone observing someone who clearly wasn’t at their best.

"Hey," she called, in a slightly lower, more direct tone.

Ouroboros turned her face slightly.

Tiamat held her gaze for a second longer than usual, her golden eyes now less sharp and more... firm in a different way.

"You need to think straight," she said bluntly, but without aggression. "And calm down."

There was a small pause.

But she didn’t look away.

"Everyone has already noticed," she added, with the same raw honesty as always.

The impact of that sentence was unlike any blow exchanged before.

Because there was no physical defense against it.

Ouroboros didn’t respond immediately.

Her eyes remained fixed on Tiamat’s for a few seconds, as if deciding what to do with that information—reject, ignore... or accept.

But, contrary to what might have been expected...

She didn’t react explosively.

Nor did she deny it.

She simply exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing a little more than before, as if, for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, she wasn’t trying to maintain a specific posture.

"...I know," she finally replied.

Quietly.

But sincerely.

Tiamat didn’t smile.

But she didn’t press any further either.

She simply nodded slightly, as if that were enough for now.

Strax, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, observing without interruption, briefly glanced at the distant horizon, as if mentally marking the time, the distance, the next move.

"We’re not going to stay here all day," he said lightly, but with a clear undertone of decisiveness.

That was enough.

Ouroboros closed her eyes for a moment.

A single moment.

And then, when she opened them again...

There was something different there.

Not completely resolved.

Not stable.

But... more aligned than before.

She took a step forward.

Without hesitation.

"Let’s go," she said.

And this time... her voice regained more presence.

Tiamat was already moving.

Strax turned slightly.

And the three began to walk.

Not as separate individuals.

But as something that, somehow... worked together.

Even with flaws.

Even with noise.

Even with things that still needed to be resolved.

The wind blew once more, gently lifting Ouroboros’s black hair and Tiamat’s golden locks, while Strax’s figure moved forward with his usual unwavering calm.

And, for now—

That was enough.