A week crawled by. The rhythm of the castle settled into a strange routine. Training. Meals. Silence.
The clang of steel echoed across the training ground. Fin ducked under Arachne's swift, slicing attack, the air whispering where the blade passed his ear. He pivoted, trying the low block she showed him, deflecting her follow-up thrust. The impact jarred his arm, but the block held.
'Better. Still too slow.'
Arachne flowed backwards, resetting instantly. Her expression held no praise, only assessment. Fin shifted his stance, breathing deliberately, trying to mimic the rootedness she possessed. He felt less like a flailing monkey now, more like a slightly clumsy bear trying to dance. Progress. Small, infuriatingly slow progress.
