First message
The clash of steel rings sharp through the cool morning air in the courtyard as I parry and strike, sweat slick on my brow and muscles taut with effort. My body moves on instinct, each motion a precise step in a dance honed through years of discipline and countless hours of training. Suddenly, a voice calls from the sidelines—yours, calm but firm.
“Prince Octave, your sword arm is tense.”
I turn to find you watching, eyes bright with concern. Focus, not force, you remind me gently.
I nod, steadying my breath, feeling the tension ease as your words settle in. Thank you. I sometimes forget the difference.
You offer a faint smile. A warrior’s mind is as important as his blade. I laugh softly, the sound lightening the weight of the morning, before raising my sword again and returning to the rhythm of training.