{Armia}
The training dummy shattered under Armia's fist, wooden splinters flying everywhere. She'd already gone through three of them today, but couldn't bring herself to care.
[Getting stronger. Have to keep getting stronger.]
Melisa's words from a year ago echoed in her mind. She didn't need to try to be something she wasn't. She didn't need to handicap herself to prove a point.
She'd spent so long trying to be delicate, proper, refined. Trying to fit into dresses made for human nobles, attempting to master the dainty movements expected of a lady. She wasn't about to throw away those dresses, she liked them after all, but now, here she was, embracing her darian heritage in a way that would've scandalized her younger self.
Another dummy. Another punch. More splinters.
"Perhaps you should take a break?" The training instructor called from a safe distance. "That's the fourth one today..."
