Elysia rose to her feet in a single, fluid motion. Her eyes remained fixed on Damien's posture as he recovered from the final stretch—sweat beading across his skin, but his breath stabilizing fast. His pain tolerance was increasing. His recovery window was narrowing.
Good.
She stepped back to the center of the mat, her tone unchanged as she spoke.
"Kicks, next. Footwork."
Damien pushed himself upright with a grunt, wiping his forearm across his brow before standing to join her.
Elysia didn't waste time.
She began with form.
Demonstrating the movement slowly—plant, pivot, raise, strike. She repeated the roundhouse motion from the waist, the kind that emphasized stability over power.
"The kick is not a swing," she said flatly. "It is a projection. If your base collapses, the power is useless."
