The training room was silent.
No windows, no distractions—only the dull, dry sound of impact echoing at regular intervals. Grace Valentine moved with precision, each strike calculated, every step adjusted to the limits of her body. There was no excess in her movements, no wasted effort. It was direct. Efficient.
She stopped for a second, took a deep breath, then resumed.
One strike, then two, twenty, thirty, six hundred. They were fast and precise, moving at a surreal speed. The air around her vibrated faintly under the pressure of repeated impacts against the reinforced training target.
That was when she felt a familiar aura.
Grace halted mid-motion without hesitation and immediately turned. As soon as she confirmed who stood behind her, she straightened her posture and bowed respectfully.
"Master," she said firmly. "I missed your presence."
