"With Titan?" said Lios. "I don't think she knows what that is."

The calm that had come over her was eerie. Before there had been a certain awkwardness to her, the uncertainty of someone who did not know what foot to put forwards. All of a sudden this had stopped being a social situation to her; she had taken your question as someone trying to get inside her head in order to win an advantage in a contest, and [i]that [/i]was certain ground for her. Her wings gently open, blade after blade, her gaze as steady as ice. Now she knew: She was a Knight, and you were a wicked specter. 

She was not going to lose.

She settled into a calm defensive stance, refusing to be baited, refusing to be the aggressor. Her feet moved, lifting and tracing along the lines of ethereal roots. They stepped up onto the line of parked scooters, the sure-footed certainty of someone used to three-dimensional movement. The autumn winds swirled around her as she projected threat; she knew exactly the distance within which she was dangerous, and her stance became all about keeping that bubble of distance between you and the doorway.

"Titan's great strength and most frustrating trait is that she sees the tournament as a whole," said Lios, easing foot after foot, letting her sword follow predictive angles. "She sees every contender, every matchup, is not just thinking about each individual but how they all work together. When she looks at me she sees me fighting Argeltia, or Hammerhead, or how I would do on a team with Prysm. So she lays seeds and traps and lessons with everything she does. She has... inflicted certain humiliations upon me, but even then I did not get the sense that we were the only ones in that room," her weight shifted, the first imperfection in her stance so far. "I did not fully understand the nature of it until I fought The Kraken, and then - well. I won my match, at least."