Darion, Garren, and Seren had been training for days now, and Darion had made some impressive progress.
The early morning sessions had become a ritual, a rhythm that anchored his days. Each morning, before the workers stirred in their tents and the castle came alive with the sounds of construction, the three of them gathered in the courtyard.
The sun would just be beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the stone floor, and Darion would be there, sword in hand, ready to learn.
He had now mastered six moves. The sequences were ingrained in his muscle memory, his body responding to them with increasing fluidity.
He could create a golden glow consistently, though the full "finishing move" was still beyond him.
That was the ultimate goal, the culmination of all the sequences, but it remained elusive, just out of reach.
Still, six moves was nothing to be ashamed of. Each one produced a different effect, a different manifestation of the golden light.
