Dune and Hazel spent the night in the Barrier, a place shrouded in an eerie quiet.
Dune woke up first, the faint light of dawn just beginning to creep through the foliage.
He turned to see Hazel lying on the ground, her chest rising and falling steadily as she slept.
Her face was peaceful, a stark contrast to the dangers they had faced the previous day.
Concerned about the morning chill, Dune took jacket and gently draped it over Hazel's shoulders, tucking it around her to ensure she stayed warm.
He stood up quietly, careful not to disturb her, and grabbed his sword from where it lay nearby.
With a deep breath, he began his basic training routine. The sword felt familiar in his hand, an extension of his own will.
He swung it in controlled arcs, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh.
His movements were fluid, each strike and parry a testament to years of practice with Atlas and Ned.
