Rongradin removed his cerulean robe in a single clean motion and set it aside, leaving his upper body bare. Sweat glistened across ash white skin, and beneath it, muscle moved with the particular, visible quality, swelling and releasing with each breath in the rhythmic, unconscious way.
Steam rose from his skin as he stood, burning away the grime of practice in thin, drifting wisps, the heat of exertion finding its own way out.
He was left in cerulean pants marked with a silver pattern along the seams, the design suggesting flames caught mid-movement, frozen in the fabric.
From his space ring, he withdrew two gauntlets.
Iron black, their surface fitted with pointed riveted knuckles that caught the chamber's light in small, sharp glints, the metal groaning faintly as Rongradin flexed his fingers within them.
