Evening — Academy Training Grounds (Fencing Hall)
The fencing hall was mostly empty, save for the gentle hum of the lights above and the rhythmic thrust-clack-thrust echoing through the space.
Meira stood alone at the center of the hall, dressed in her fencing uniform, sweat beading along her brow. Her blade snapped forward—quick, clean, precise.
Again.
And again.
She danced forward, then back, feet gliding on the polished floor as she practiced her form.
But her expression was tight.
Another thrust. Another parry.
She growled under her breath. "Too stiff…"
She reset her stance.
Then—
"Your wrist is locking again."
A calm voice drifted from behind her. Cold. Sharp. Familiar.
She turned—only slightly—her eyes narrowing.
Kairon.
He walked slowly toward her, hands in his coat pockets, gaze fixed on her blade.
"I don't recall asking for help," Meira said, turning back to her form.
"I didn't come to ask," he replied flatly, stepping to her side.
