Charon's days began with aches and ended with bruises. The mornings were claimed by Wallflower and her relentless drills, the afternoons by the Stadia's unforgiving pit, and the evenings by quiet conversations with Emerius, both of them hunched over old texts and stranger questions.
Wallflower rarely greeted him. The moment he arrived, it was the next lesson.
Balance, form, and transitions between swings. Parrying from awkward angles. Learning when to commit and when to wait patiently. She used words like "efficiency" and "adaptability" religiously, hoping to drill them into his head.
Her eyes judged him before her voice ever did, which annoyed him to no end.
By the final day before the mission, he could spin the scythe around his back and catch it in stride. That earned a nod.
It also earned him the "pleasure" of her fighting back even harder.
"You keep trying to push power into every strike."
She told him after a particularly lopsided spar.
