The morning sun rose gently over Arcadia Academy, casting golden rays across the dew-drenched training grounds. The sky was clear, the clouds scattered like distant dreams, and the soft chirping of birds echoed faintly in the quiet calm.
Luca stood alone on the field, his breath visible in the early chill, muscles tense and focused. His coat had been tossed aside, revealing his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his frame. The sound of his boots thudding rhythmically against the dirt echoed in sync with the swish of his twin sabers slicing through the air.
Left slash. Right twist. Step, duck, spin.
His eyes were sharp, unwavering. Each movement was calculated, not just for precision, but for purpose. He wasn't training for the sake of form—he was preparing for the next inevitable battle.
