Mestre Do Az - _verified_

The Mestre danced. It was not a dance of avoidance, but of subtraction. Every time Kael swung, the Mestre was already where the sword was not. He stepped into the gaps of Kael’s defense, tapping the young warrior on the elbow, the knee, the chest. Each tap felt heavy, like a hammer blow, though the Mestre used no force.

"To the crowd, this pebble is falling," the Mestre said. "To you, it is an object. To me, it is a question. Az ... If it falls left, it hits the sand. Az it falls right, it hits the stone. Most men live in the world of 'Is'. They see reality as solid, unchangeable. I live in the world of 'Az'. I see the potential."

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Kael looked at his hands. They were shaking not from fear, but from a sudden, crushing realization. He had spent ten years training his muscles, his speed, his 'Z'. He had never trained his mind to see the branches of the moment. The Mestre danced

The Mestre opened his eyes. They were startlingly clear, the color of a summer sky. He did not draw a weapon. He simply raised a single hand, fingers loosely curled.

The Mestre do Az smiled, a rare expression that crinkled the corners of his sky-blue eyes. He stepped aside, gesturing to the open gate of the arena. He stepped into the gaps of Kael’s defense,

He stood up, leaving the sword where it lay.