The clash of wood on wood had long since died. But the empty training hall still held the heavy, hot air of two bodies pushed past their limits.
The floor was covered in broken pieces. Dozens of shattered wooden katanas, cracked broadswords, and snapped handles lay scattered in a wide circle like the remains of an old war. In the middle of it all, Leo and Arthur lay side by side on their backs.
They stared up at the ceiling. Both of their shirts were gone. They had thrown them off an hour ago when the sweat became too much. Their bare chests rose and fell in rough, uneven breaths, gasping for air that felt too thin.
Sweat shone over fresh bruises, red marks, and wet skin. Leo's right arm lay limp over his eyes, blocking out the dim lights above. Arthur's head was turned to the side, his dark hair stuck to his forehead in wet, messy spikes.
For several minutes, the only sound in the big hall was the rough sound of their breathing.
