Under the moonlit sky, while everyone was drinking and having fun conversing about the match between Lucen and Eisen, there was someone training.
Elyra Runescar had started training the moment she arrived home—she didn't even change clothes.
Her crimson red hair, the shade of fresh-spilled blood, swayed and glimmered with every movement, catching the moonlight as though she were a flame burning alone in the quiet courtyard.
Her breath came out steady, controlled, measured, each exhale a disciplined promise to herself.
Her longsword moved alongside her body. Each of her movements made it look like she was dancing.
She was not practicing for the sake of beauty, yet her movements possessed it, sharp, fluid, purposeful.
The silver edge of her sword reflected the moonlight, tracing arcs in the cold air. With every strike, the ground beneath her feet scraped, the tiles whispering under her boots.
'Lucen.'
