I could feel the weight of the air between us. Heavy, tense, and humming with potential violence. Lyan and I circled each other like two predators testing the boundaries of the other's territory. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but his eyes—those dark, calculating eyes—were anything but. He was sizing me up, just as I was him. Every twitch of a muscle, every shift in stance, I read it. We hadn't exchanged a single word, but we didn't need to. The fight would speak for us.
I adjusted my grip on my swords, feeling the familiar weight settle in my hands. Both blades gleamed under the dim light, one angled slightly forward, the other held defensively at my side. Lyan's stance was different—his weapon rested almost casually across his shoulder, but I could see the subtle flex of his fingers, the readiness in his stance. He wasn't underestimating me. Good. I wouldn't tolerate a half-hearted fight.
