They stood apart from each other, five metres of still grass and small weeds separated them. Small clumps were flattened and pressed down from previous spars. The wind was gentle and non-disruptive. The air had a light smell of pine and felt warm, but not unpleasantly so.
Lukas held the katana in his hands, its handle, covered in faded blue and black threads, now fit comfortably. He still wasn't completely used to the amount of reach it had, but he didn't dislike the slight edge of speed it had.
Oak held the wakizashi in one hand and the kunai in the other. In previous spars, he frequently used his Frequency on the kunai, but he could never seem to get the right flow with it and it only served to hinder him.
He stared at Lukas with a seriousness that was unlike him. Unbeknownst to Lukas, Oak had unknowingly slipped into a kind of focus or clarity. He patiently awaited Lukas' first move with little hesitation, knowing ahead of time how he would react.
