The early morning mist curled through the Academy grounds, carrying a crisp chill that bit at Elara's cheeks as she trudged toward the training field. She hugged her borrowed practice staff close, its smooth wood a poor comfort against the cold. The distant clang of metal and muffled grunts echoed through the stillness, drawing her attention to the figure in the clearing ahead.
Darian was unlike anyone Elara had seen here before. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded an effortless strength, the kind that didn't require flaunting. His dark hair was cropped short, though a stubborn lock kept falling over his forehead as he moved through a series of strikes with a sword.
Each motion was fluid, precise, and economical, a contrast to the sheer force in his strikes that sent the blade whistling through the air.
