The sun had long sunk beneath the horizon, casting the sky into a soft bruise of twilight as the training room echoed with the clash of blades and harsh exhales. Adrianna moved with sharp grace, her muscles honed from weeks of relentless training. The silver edge of her sword gleamed each time it caught the torchlight. Across from her, Acantha parried clumsily, her focus drifting like a mist in the wind.
"You're losing your rhythm," Adrianna noted, stepping back just in time to avoid a mistimed strike.
Acantha blinked, as if waking from a dream. "Sorry. Again."
They resumed. Swords rang in the air, striking with force and fury, but Adrianna couldn't shake the shift in Acantha's demeanor. Her movements were usually as fluid as wind through leaves—controlled, calculated. Tonight, she was sloppy. Distracted.
