The first rays of sunlight filtered over the jagged peaks of the mountains, casting golden light across the highland forest. The mist had not yet lifted, clinging to the ground like a shroud. In a secluded clearing high above the coastal city, Amber and Lilith moved like shadows through smoke—dancing in the silence of the morning.
Amber's breath came in slow, measured rhythms, the sound nearly inaudible. Her dagger—her own creation of blood and will—sliced the air with a crisp, whispering sound. Lilith circled her, offering corrections not with words but with movement. Every feint, step, and strike was a conversation between master and student.
Amber's Blood Arts had grown. No longer was she merely channeling energy into her blade—now her strikes bled red trails through the air. Each slash summoned wisps of crimson mist that swirled around her, forming afterimages that confused the eye. Her control had become sharper, her attacks faster, her movements almost too quick to track.
