The stone walls of the training hall towered around me, their cold, gray surfaces bathed in the flickering light of a single lantern in the corner. The air smelled of sweat and wood—both pungent and familiar by now. I stood there, my wooden sword gripped tightly in my hands, knuckles white from the strain. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I could feel the sting of sweat trickling down my brow, soaking into the collar of my tunic.
It had been three days.
Three days since I'd begun training to master the Aura Blade; a technique that I hadn't deemed to be of importance since I had mainly dabbled in swordsmanship without full attention. The idea sounded so simple at first: channel your aura into the sword, and it becomes an extension of yourself, then like a magnet; call onto the exterior energy to strengthen and fully coat the blade. But now, three days in, all I had were fragments of light—flickering blue flashes that vanished the moment I thought I had control.
