The first light of dawn brushed the horizon in gold, spilling over the spires and stone walls of Hevenfort. The dew still clung to the grass like a thousand tiny gems, glistening beneath the pale sun.
In the distance, the manor bells had not yet stirred the sleeping children of Helian Manor, but the training ground was already alive with the clash of steel and the grunts of exertion.
Cornelius swung his wooden blade with all his might. Logan caught the strike mid-arc, his arm steady as oak, the sound of the impact echoing across the courtyard. The force of the parry sent the younger man stumbling backward, boots scraping against the damp soil.
"Better," Logan said, his tone gruff but approving. "You've learned to use your weight. Three days ago, you would've ended flat on your back."
Cornelius straightened, chest heaving. "I've been practicing every evening, Sir. I don't want to disappoint you."
