Lara's sword sliced through the training post with a deafening crack, splinters flying like shrapnel. Sweat glistened on her skin, each droplet clinging to her as if reluctant to fall. Her breath came in short bursts, chest rising and falling beneath her breastplate as her sapphire hair stuck to her face in tangled strands.
She wasn't training anymore. She was venting.
Every strike was a question without an answer.
'Why did he look at her that way? Why does he forgive her so easily?'
She swung again.
'Why is it never enough?'
Again.
'Why am I not enough?'
The sword's edge thudded into the next wooden target, which split clean down the center.
Lara stood over the wreckage, panting.
'Stop. Bring. Distracted' she told herself. 'We are at war…'
"…We are enough…" she whispered, then louder, firmer, "No kingdom—no empire—can stand before us."
