Each swing made his arms ache less.
His stance improved.
His footwork grew smoother.
The sword felt more and more like part of him.
But hunger started gnawing at him.
At first, he ignored it, thinking he could just keep training.
If he improved enough, maybe the Sovereign would return.
Maybe then he would be acknowledged.
But he was still a child.
Eventually, the hunger became bigger than his fear of the Sovereign.
His stomach churned, twisting with pain, and the loneliness in the room became too loud.
He stepped out.
The corridor was dark, with cracked stones and ancient patterns etched into the walls.
Several doors lined the hallway, but he walked past them and moved toward the staircase at the end.
It took him time to climb.
His legs trembled, and he had to stop and rest more than once.
At the top of the stairs, he pushed open a heavy door.
Warm light greeted him.
He stepped into a massive palace hall.
