Junior tightened his grip on his sword, though his fingers screamed in protest. His entire body felt like it was unraveling, but he wasn't about to back down. Not in front of her. He steadied his stance, his chest heaving as he tried to control his ragged breaths.
Eira began to circle him, her movements measured and deliberate. The dim light of the training room cast a faint sheen over her, her muscles shifting smoothly beneath her skin. She moved like a predator—patient, poised, and completely in control.
"Still standing? Impressive," she remarked, her tone laced with amusement. "But willpower alone won't save you."
Junior didn't respond. Words felt like a waste of energy now. Instead, he watched her closely, studying her movements for any opening, any hint of an attack. She didn't give one.
