The morning mist rolled across the Corzedar estate's training grounds, carrying the scent of steel and pine. The banners of House Corzedar fluttered softly against the breeze, a dragon coiled around a broken sword, the eternal crest of wind and will.
In the center of the courtyard stood Khael and Lord Lito Corzedar, facing one another across the packed earth.
The old general's stance was grounded, solid as mountain stone, while his son's presence shimmered faintly the air bending ever so slightly around him, touched by dragonfire.
Lady Maricar Corzedar stood nearby, calm and radiant in her pale robes, hands folded as she watched. Beside her, Ren and Lyra sat cross-legged on the grass, eyes wide with excitement.
Ren leaned forward eagerly. "He's actually sparring with Father…"
Lyra clasped her hands, eyes gleaming. "Do you think Brother will win?"
