The training room smelled faintly of polished steel and sweat. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, catching motes of dust that danced like tiny spirits in the air.
Amon Vale's boots scraped the floor as he shifted his stance, muscles straining, arms trembling slightly from the last two days of practice.
He had been training the first form for the past two days after lectures were done.
He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, feeling the weight of the blade settle into his hands. The first form of the Umbral Veil Sword Art demanded precision, timing, and flow—but his body still resisted.
Each swing was a battle against his own limitations. Sweat dripped down his temple and trickled along his neck, soaking the collar of his uniform.
"Again," he muttered under his breath, voice rough with exertion.
