Always two.
Etzel stared at Maerin’s message. Then at the spear in his hand. Then back at the message.
“I just bought one weapon.”
From the Soul Space, DK answered: Then use it twice.
Etzel slowly lowered the communicator. “That is not how weapons work.”
No answer. Etzel waited. Still nothing.
“You say something ridiculous and then hide in another dimension. Cowardly.”
Recover first.
Etzel frowned. “That was an impressive change of subject.”
Unfortunately, DK was right. More unfortunately, so was Ismera.
Etzel did not go hunting that day. His ribs needed another day. So he spent it doing something almost as painful: training.
DK kept the session light. At least that was what he called it. Etzel suspected the knight had developed an unusual definition of the word.
Grip. Thrust. Recover. Step. Turn. Reset. Again. Again. Again.
No complicated techniques. No clever tricks. Just repetition until the spear stopped feeling like an object Etzel happened to be holding and began, very slowly, to feel like something connected to his movement.
He still made mistakes. Many. His rear hand occasionally overworked. His feet became too narrow when retreating. He watched the spearhead when he should have watched his opponent.
DK corrected everything. “Again.”
Etzel reset his stance. “You know other words.”
“Yes.”
“Use one.”
“Again.”
Etzel sighed. By evening, his ribs hurt less. His arms hurt more. He considered that progress.
The next morning, Maerin sent the complete hunting-zone report. Etzel read it over breakfast.
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [E-RANK HUNTING ZONE — SECTOR 14] │
│ Primary Threat: Mirrorjaw Stalker │
│ Observed Levels: 6–8 │
│ Behavior: Paired Hunting │
│ Terrain: Sparse woodland / rock ridges │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
Below it was a message from Maerin:
Maerin: Do not engage if there are more than two.
Etzel typed:
Etzel: You said they always hunt in pairs.
The answer came quickly:
Maerin: Pairs can stand next to other pairs.
Etzel stared at the screen.
Etzel: I dislike mathematics again.
A few seconds passed.
Sivenne: You liked mathematics before?
Etzel narrowed his eyes.
Etzel: Why are you here?
Sivenne: Emotional support.
Etzel almost laughed. Apparently that phrase was following him now.
Tessa sent the next message:
Tessa: How are your ribs?
Etzel considered several possible answers. Maerin interrupted before he could choose one:
Maerin: The truthful answer.
Etzel sighed.
Etzel: Better.
Tessa replied:
Tessa: Better enough?
Etzel looked toward the doorway. Then rotated his torso carefully. A little stiffness. A little pain. Nothing like yesterday.
Etzel: Better enough.
Maerin: That is not medically meaningful.
Etzel: Neither is friendship apparently.
Sivenne: Good luck!
Tessa: Be careful.
Maerin: Two. Not four.
Etzel put the communicator away. “They have so much faith in me.”
DK, sitting across the room where no one else could currently see him, looked at Etzel. “They expect you to make bad decisions.”
“That is a different kind of faith.”
Sector 14 lay far enough from populated areas that the roads became dirt before Etzel reached the boundary. The terrain beyond was open compared to the forest where he had spent much of his early hunting. Sparse trees. Tall grass. Gray stone formations rising from the earth. Good visibility. Mostly.
Etzel preferred that. He adjusted the spear in his hands.
DK walked several meters behind him. That was deliberate. Etzel had noticed.
“You’re staying back.”
“Yes.”
“That feels ominous.”
“You need experience.”
“I have experience.”
“You have survived several dangerous situations.”
Etzel glanced over his shoulder. “That sounded like experience.”
“It is not the same thing.”
Etzel turned forward again. Annoyingly reasonable. “What exactly are you doing, then?”
“Watching.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“I intervene.”
“How wrong?”
“If you are going to die.”
Etzel considered that. “Slightly reassuring.”
DK said nothing. Etzel looked back. “Only slightly.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
They continued.
The first sign appeared twelve minutes later. Tracks.
Etzel crouched beside them. Long. Narrow. Three forward toes. One smaller rear impression. Bipedal. He looked around. No movement.
DK stopped several steps away. Etzel pointed toward the tracks. “Mirrorjaw?”
“Yes.”
“You know?”
“I read the report.”
Etzel looked at him. “That was disappointingly normal.”
DK’s expression remained still. Etzel stood. The tracks disappeared between two low rock formations. He tightened his grip on the spear. “Let’s find two.”
They found one.
That was worse.
The creature stood partially concealed behind a pale stone ridge. Tall enough that, fully upright, it would have looked down slightly at Etzel. Its body was lean. Too lean. Dark gray hide stretched over long limbs built more for sudden movement than strength. Its legs bent strangely beneath it, the joints angled backward. Two narrow arms ended in hooked fingers.
But the head drew Etzel’s attention. There was no visible mouth. Instead, two polished bone plates covered the lower half of its face—one above, one below. They overlapped slightly. The surface caught the morning light. And reflected it.
Etzel could see distorted fragments of grass and stone moving across the plates.
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [SURVEY RECORD: SPECIMEN IDENTIFIED]│
│ Target: Mirrorjaw Stalker │
│ Estimated Level: 7 │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
Etzel did not move. The Stalker did not move either. He looked left: rock, grass, sparse trees. Right: more open ground. Nothing.
Etzel’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s the second?”
Behind him, DK said: “Good.”
Etzel glanced back. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“It was the correct question.”
Etzel returned his attention to the creature. One Mirrorjaw. Always two. Which means the dangerous one was probably the one he couldn’t see.
“Wonderful.”
Etzel did not attack. That seemed to bother the Stalker. Its head tilted. The mirrored jaw plates shifted slightly apart, revealing darkness between them. No teeth Etzel could see.
The creature stepped sideways. Etzel followed with the spearhead. Another step. The point followed.
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The Stalker lowered its body. Etzel remembered DK’s lesson: A weapon decides where the enemy is allowed to stand.
The creature moved left. Etzel didn’t chase it. He adjusted the line. The spearhead occupied the space between them.
The Stalker suddenly lunged.
Etzel almost thrust. Almost. Instead, he held the point where the creature needed to go.
The Stalker twisted mid-charge. Its body folded sideways with disturbing flexibility. The spear missed flesh—but the creature had been forced away.
Etzel felt something small and satisfying settle into place. He hadn’t hit it. He hadn’t needed to.
The Stalker circled again. Etzel smiled. “I understand why you like this now.”
DK said nothing.
“Some encouragement would be appropriate.”
Still nothing. Etzel sighed.
Then the grass behind him moved. Barely. He did not hear footsteps. Did not hear breathing. Nothing.
But through the Soul Link—something changed. Not words. Not a warning. DK’s attention sharpened. Instantly.
Etzel turned. Too late.
The second Mirrorjaw was already there.
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [SURVEY RECORD: SPECIMEN IDENTIFIED]│
│ Target: Mirrorjaw Stalker │
│ Estimated Level: 8 │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
“Of course you’re the bigger one.”
Its arm came down. Etzel couldn’t bring the spearhead around in time. Too long. Too slow at this distance. He raised the middle of the shaft.
Impact. The reinforced wood caught the hooked limb. Pain drove through Etzel’s arms. Then his ribs.
He staggered sideways. The Stalker followed. Etzel shoved with the shaft, creating half a meter. Not enough.
The first Stalker moved. Etzel saw it from the corner of his eye. “Bad.”
He retreated. The second Stalker lunged. Etzel swung the rear of the spear around and forced it to hesitate.
The first attacked. Etzel turned. Thrust. It withdrew.
Second. Turn. Block.
First. Turn. Threaten.
Second. Turn.
Again. Again. Again.
Etzel’s breathing changed. They weren’t attacking together. Not exactly. One entered. The other waited. Etzel responded. Then the other entered from the angle his response had exposed.
He backed toward open ground. One Stalker moved right. Etzel adjusted. The other shifted left. He adjusted again.
Another attack. Another retreat. His heel struck stone. Etzel caught himself.
The realization came cold: They’re moving me.
DK remained where he was. Watching. Etzel hated how useful that silence was.
The Hollowroot Custodian flashed through his mind. The cuts—shoulder, flank, leg. Not trying to break armor. Steering.
The Mirrorjaws were doing the same thing. Not with overwhelming skill. With two bodies.
Etzel looked behind him. Open ground. Exactly where they wanted him. No cover. No obstacle. Nothing to interfere with the flanks.
“Right.”
The Level 7 Stalker lunged. Etzel thrust. It withdrew. He didn’t chase. Instead, Etzel moved sideways, toward the rocks.
The Level 8 creature adjusted to cut him off. Etzel changed direction. Not retreating. Repositioning.
One large rock formation rose to his left. Too steep for an immediate climb, but wide enough to matter. Etzel put it beside him.
The Stalkers spread. Tried to surround him. One succeeded. The other didn’t. Rock blocked the line.
Etzel smiled. “One side is mine.”
The Level 8 Stalker attacked. Etzel kept the spear between them. The Level 7 tried to circle behind the rock. It had farther to travel now.
For the first time—they couldn’t alternate perfectly. Etzel had bought time. Not much. Enough.
Now he watched.
The Level 8 Stalker shifted. Its jaw plates reflected Etzel’s spear. He saw the distorted silver point moving across the bone. The creature lunged. Etzel denied the line. It stopped.
The Level 7 appeared around the rock. Etzel turned.
Something caught his eye. The reflection. Not his own. On the Level 7 Stalker’s polished jaw—the other creature appeared. Small. Distorted. Moving.
Etzel frowned. The Level 8 shifted. The Level 7 reacted before looking toward it.
Etzel’s attention sharpened. Again. He raised the spear. The first Stalker changed position. The second adjusted. Too clean.
Etzel tested it. He moved right. The Level 8 tracked him. The reflection on its jaw changed. The Level 7 shifted almost immediately.
“They’re not watching me.”
DK spoke for the first time in several exchanges. “No?”
Etzel’s eyes stayed on the creatures. “They’re watching each other.”
The Mirrorjaws moved again. Etzel watched the plates. Each one reflected a broad slice of the battlefield. Not perfectly. Distorted. But enough. When one creature faced Etzel, the other could read movement through the reflection. Not telepathy. Not some invisible bond. A hunting adaptation.
Etzel felt excitement rise. “Clever.”
The Stalkers attacked. Etzel barely blocked the first. The second hooked at his shoulder. He ducked. Too slow. A claw cut his outer sleeve. Not deep. Enough to remind him this was not a puzzle.
Etzel retreated against the rock. “Fine.”
He understood the idea. Probably.
Witness said nothing. Etzel waited. Nothing. He almost laughed. “Of course.”
Theory. Not understanding. Again.
Etzel raised the spear high. Deliberately. The Level 8 Stalker saw it. More importantly—the Level 7 saw the reflection.
Etzel shifted his shoulders as though preparing a high thrust toward the larger creature. The Level 7 moved. Not randomly. It moved to the angle that would punish Etzel after the expected attack.
Etzel did not attack. He dropped the spear line.
The Level 7 hesitated. Small. But real.
Etzel’s eyes narrowed. Again. He showed one movement. Watched the reflection. Watched the partner. Response.
Again. Different angle. Response.
They weren’t simply using the reflections to know where he was. They depended on them to maintain the timing of the pair.
Etzel understood. Break the information—break the coordination.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
Event
Flaw Witnessed
Status
Recognition Confirmed
Data
Reflected Coordination Dependency