Asher's body came to a halt as he performed his last linked motion. The air settled around him, soft and still, as though acknowledging the conclusion of that flawless sequence. He stood tall, posture straight, the rapier still held in his hand. His grip, though relaxed, carried a quiet assertiveness.
Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling as he attempted to stabilize his breathing, which had begun to shift slightly out of its disciplined rhythm. His chest rose and fell in steady intervals. He did not pant heavily nor show signs of exhaustion, but even the smallest disruption in his breathing pattern was something he refused to ignore.
His purple eyes shifted from the ceiling, lowering back toward the ground below. His gaze swept across the chamber, taking in the faint glistening sheen that now covered almost every inch of the floor, his own sweat, scattered across the polished surface in thin trails and droplets.
