Kaelor's training blade cracked across Soren's knuckles, sending pain racing up his arm like lightning seeking ground.
"Pathetic," the swordmaster growled, already circling for another strike. "If this is your best, perhaps we should send you back to whatever gutter spawned you."
Soren readjusted his grip on the practice sword, ignoring the fresh blood welling from split calluses. He'd almost had it that time, the elusive First Petal form that continued to dance just beyond his reach.
The shard against his chest remained cool and silent, Valenna offering neither encouragement nor criticism.
"Again," Kaelor barked, raising his training sword for another punishing lesson.
Before the blow could fall, a figure appeared at the edge of the yard, one of the house stewards, his silver-trimmed uniform immaculate despite the dust that seemed to coat everything else in Velrane's domain.
