The arena trembled under the rhythm of feet striking stone.
The boy moved first.
Black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, eyes sharp and burning with refusal. He lunged forward, feet snapping against the ground in a tight, efficient pattern. No wasted motion. No hesitation. His right fist cut through the air, fast and direct, aimed straight for Adrian's jaw.
Adrian tilted his head just briefly.
The punch grazed fabric and nothing more.
Before the boy's heel even settled, he twisted, driving his left fist toward Adrian's ribs. It was a good combination. Clean and brutal. The kind that broke through careless guards.
Adrian stepped inside the arc at the last possible heartbeat. The boy felt the shift of air as his strike missed by a breath. Two fingers tapped against his shoulder.
A shallow strike.
Not enough to injure. Enough to remind.
The boy gritted his teeth and pushed harder.
