"Yes, Master," they replied in unison.
For the next two hours, the quiet of the twilight was shattered only by the heavy, rhythmic thud of wooden swords colliding and the sharp, brief breaths of physical exertion. Elara moved like a machine—her strikes precise, her footing flawless, her mind calculating angles and momentum without a single trace of hesitation or emotional fatigue. She didn't fight with anger; she fought with physics.
Ken was methodical and heavy, his strikes designed to wear down her defense through sheer, unrelenting mass, while Mahir was fast and unpredictable, his beast-kin agility forcing her to constantly adjust her center of gravity. It was a brutal, beautiful equilibrium. They pushed her body to its absolute physical limits, drawing a thick sheen of sweat from her skin and making her lungs burn with the demand for oxygen.
By the time Elara called a halt, the moon had risen high into the midnight sky, bathing the courtyard in a stark, silvery light.
