A breeze swept across the old training ground, brushing against the short grass and kicking up little spirals of dust.
Dante stood near the edge of the clearing, eyes scanning the packed earth like a man looking for a snack.
"…You forgot your weapon?" Sid asked, frowning.
Dante shrugged. "Too lazy to go fetch one."
He bent down, picked up a broken branch — dry, weather-worn, not even straight. He twirled it once in his fingers. It made a dull clack as the bark cracked.
Sid stared. "You're not serious."
"Oh, I'm dead serious." Dante grinned. "This stick and I… we go way back."
From the stone bench nearby, Avi raised a brow. "This again?"
Dimitri gave the faintest ghost of a smile.
Sid didn't wait for a proper start. He charged first.
The wooden training blade slashed across the air — Sid's movement sharp, precise, adjusting mid-step, hand switching as his instincts dictated.
Dante caught it — with the branch.
Clack!
The sound echoed through the trees. No finesse. Just perfect placement.
Sid's wrist stung. His feet shifted.
Dante spun lazily, flicked the branch once, and tapped Sid on the forehead with the tip.
"First point."
Sid blinked.
"…That damn twig!"
"Legendary twig," Dante said. "Passed down through generations of squirrels."
The next round, Sid didn't hold back.
He twisted, pivoted, adapted. His form bent like wind through leaves — no rigid school, no fixed stance.
Dante met it all — with one hand and that cursed stick.
When Sid lunged, Dante stepped aside and let him pass — then tripped him lightly with the branch's end.
Sid hit the ground with a grunt. He rolled, got up, and laughed.
"You—! Seriously?!"
"Two points," Dante said, spinning the branch like a swordmaster.
Avi sipped her tea. "He's enjoying this."
Dimitri watched silently.
She added softly, "So is Sid."
Third round, Sid tried something wild — a fake stumble into a rising slash. It nearly landed.
Nearly.
Dante's counter? A light tap on Sid's elbow with the branch.
His sword flew out of his hand.
Sid stared at the stick like it had betrayed him.
"…Seriously?!"
Dante gave a sage nod. "Nature provides."
By the fourth round, Sid was panting, soaked in sweat, and laughing.
"I swear," he said, hands on knees, "one day, I'm gonna put you down."
Dante grinned. "Maybe. If I'm blind. And both arms are broken. And I'm napping."
"You forgot legs," Sid added.
"Oh, right. Tie those up too."
They both laughed.
Then Sid stood straight. "Fifth round?"
"You still want it?"
"I haven't landed a hit. So yeah."
Dante gave the branch a little kiss.
"Let's dance, then."
The fifth round was short.
Sid came in fast — switching hands, spinning low, reading Dante's movement and trying to cut across it.
Dante let the strike pass him, and with a tap, placed the tip of the stick on Sid's chest.
"Point five," he said.
Sid froze. Then grinned.
"I still almost had you."
"In another lifetime," Dante replied. "Keep dreaming though."
As Sid slumped beside Dante in the grass, staring at the sky, he asked between breaths:
"Seriously… a stick?"
Dante waved the branch over his head.
"She's a beauty."
"You're the worst."
"I'll take that as praise."
Somewhere between the laughter and the bruises…
A spark stayed lit.
A spark that one day, will turn into a blazing fire.