The morning light was grey and cold, filtering through the high windows of the training yard in pale, watery stripes. I had come here seeking the familiar rhythm of combat, the burn of muscles pushed to their limits, the clarity that came from focusing on nothing but the next strike, the next breath, the next moment.
Torvin had not arrived yet. The yard was empty, the practice dummies standing in silent rows, their wooden bodies scarred from months of use. I picked up a practice sword, its weight familiar in my hand, and began the forms he had taught me.
The movements were slow at first, my body still heavy with exhaustion, my mind still clouded with the weight of secrets I could not share. But as I moved, the fog began to lift, the rhythm of combat carrying me forward.
I did not hear her approach.
"You're up early."
