The clang of wood against wood echoed through the training grounds as I parried Damien's feint with a deliberate step back, forcing my breath to stay steady. The morning chill clung to my skin, but my muscles burned with the familiar strain of hours-long drills. Damien, always the sharp-eyed instructor, lowered his wooden blade and gave me a nod that was almost approving.
"Not bad, Milo,"
He was crossing his arms as his blade rested against his shoulder. "Your mana control is smoother today. You're starting to feel it, aren't you? The way it flows, subtle but constant."
I nodded, rolling my shoulders. "It's easier to grasp now, like threading a needle. But I still lose focus when I shift between attacks."
"Exactly," Damien replied, his sharp gaze meeting mine. "Your concentration tilts when your balance does. You've improved, but you can't afford lapses. Against a real opponent, even a single misstep can be fatal."
