Nigel hit the ground hard, the breath rushing out of his lungs as the dull smack of Kyle's wooden blade echoed across the training yard.
His sword fell from his hand, landing in the dust beside him. He stared up at the sky for a moment, blinking in confusion.
That couldn't have just happened.
His elder brother — the same Kyle Armstrong who used to cough up blood after walking up a staircase — had just flipped him onto his back with one fluid movement.
And worse, Nigel hadn't even seen it coming.
Kyle loomed above him, wooden blade resting casually on his shoulder.
"You're open when you shift your back foot. I could've hit your liver. Or your spine. Maybe both."
Nigel sat up slowly, face red with both exertion and disbelief.
"Since when did you start talking like a damn instructor?"
"Since I stopped pretending to be useless."
Kyle said with a faint smirk.
Nigel's brows drew together. That wasn't just arrogance — it was confidence. A kind he'd never seen on Kyle before.
