The following morning, Rowan woke and stretched, yawning as sunlight crept into the room. He glanced at his hands, feeling the familiar pulse of mana flowing through him. Everything had replenished, yet the memory of his battle with Valzaha still burned in his mind.
Rowan walked toward the window, peering out over the forest surrounding their house. From downstairs, the rhythmic clashing of metal reached his ears. Aldwin was training. But this wasn't casual practice. Each strike of his sword cut the air with precision, power, and focus, an aura radiating from him that Rowan could feel even from here.
He paused, absorbing the sound and the energy. I haven't seen him this serious, not even after all those battles. Losing to Valzaha had shaken him deeply, and now, every motion, every swing, screamed of dedication, of someone striving to surpass their limits.
