Lyra's POV
The air in the training field was charged, humming faintly with the energy of Lyra's aura. She stood in the center of the open space, her greatsword resting against her shoulder as she surveyed the practice dummies arranged in a semi-circle around her. Sylvia paced nearby, her feline tail swishing with restless energy.
"You've got power," Sylvia said, stopping to stretch lazily. "But raw strength won't be enough in this tournament. You need precision, control. And maybe a little flair."
Lyra smirked, lowering her sword to the ground. "Is that your way of saying I need to start showing off?"
"It's my way of saying you've got a lot of untapped potential," Sylvia replied, her green-tinted lightning flickering briefly across her claws. "You're good, Lyra, but with me? You could be unstoppable."
