Break.
Lucen sat on a ledge, chest heaving, looking out at lower streets. Fleet of drones buzzing past. HVAC hum from cooling units. Pigeon flutter in corners.
Varik joined him with two bottles.
"You sweat too much."
"You train too much."
Varik smirked. Popped open the cap and tossed the remains into a drain.
"Hydrate."
—
On the second shift, Lucen stood in stance. Sword pointed low.
Varik circled him, ankles clicking.
Without warning, Varik lunged.
Lucen tried to block with his blade. He misread the angle. Steel scraped. He pivoted, tripped, landed on one knee.
Varik hovered above.
"Again," he said.
Lucen stood. Dust on his knee. Tried again.
Lunge. Counter. Step aside.
His defense was cleaner. His movement curved.
Varik nodded. "Feel that?"
"I did worse."
"That was baseline. Practice it ten times."
—
They circled again.
Varik switched stances. Shorter, tighter grip. Slower breath.
Lucen mimicked.
