[Training Ground—Later—Osric's POV]
Steel clashed in rhythmic bursts—sharp, clean, and controlled.
The sound guided me through the corridor until I reached the archway of the private royal training yard. Frost bit at the stone beneath my boots, sunlight glinting off every surface like the world itself was drawn in blades.
And there she was.
Lavinia.
A streak of wildfire in the form of a woman—moving fast, precise, and angry.
She was sparring with Captain Haldor, her most unyielding guard. His strikes were heavy, disciplined, and meant to test a warrior's endurance. Hers—swift, relentless—meant to make someone bleed.
Their swords collided in a vicious dance.
Haldor pushed her back with a brutal downward strike. She spun under it, teeth clenched, answering with a thrust that forced him to block hastily.
Steel scraped steel, sparks flying, but there was fury beneath every impact.
Her fury.
