The first strike came faster than Nyra could have imagined. One moment, Braxton was standing still, and the next, he was lunging at her, his sword a blur in the dim light. Nyra barely had time to raise her own sword in defense, the force of his blow sending her stumbling backward.
"Too slow," Braxton said, his voice calm, almost dispassionate. He stepped forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Nyra scrambled to block it, her arms trembling with the effort. "You have to be faster. If you're not, you'll die."
The next strike came harder, and Nyra gasped as the impact jarred her entire body. She gritted her teeth, trying to remember the stances she had seen the guards use, but it was all slipping away in the chaos. Braxton wasn't holding back; every swing was precise, relentless, forcing her to move, to react, to keep up.
Nyra's breaths came in ragged gasps as she blocked strike after strike, each one driving her further back. Her muscles screamed in protest, her legs shaking with the effort of staying upright. Sweat dripped down her face, her hands slipping on the wooden hilt of the sword.
"Come on," Braxton barked, his voice sharp. "Is that all you've got?"
Nyra bit back a cry of frustration, swinging her sword in a desperate, wild arc. Braxton parried easily, his movements fluid, almost lazy. He sidestepped her next attack, his sword crashing down on her own with a force that sent her sprawling to the ground.
She hit the dirt hard, the wind knocked out of her lungs. For a moment, she lay there, gasping for breath, her vision blurred with tears of pain and humiliation. Every part of her body ached, the muscles in her arms trembling with fatigue.
"Get up," Braxton said, his voice cold. "We're not done."
Nyra's fingers clenched around the hilt of her sword, her knuckles white. She wanted to scream, to curse, to tell him that this was impossible, that no one could fight like this. But she didn't. Instead, she forced herself to her feet, her legs unsteady, her vision swimming.
Braxton watched her, his expression unreadable. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice low. "Why do you want to fight?"
Nyra swallowed, her throat dry. "Because I want more," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because I don't want to be powerless."
Braxton's eyes narrowed. "And you think learning to swing a sword will give you power?"
Nyra raised her sword, her arms trembling. "Yes," she said, her voice fierce. "I have to believe that it will."
For a moment, Braxton just looked at her, his gaze intense. Then he nodded slowly. "Then show me."