Chapter 19: Dawn’s Sparring
The clash of wooden staves echoed through the morning mist, pulling Elysia from her exhausted slumber. For a moment, panic gripped her—the sound too reminiscent of battle, of weapons striking armor and flesh. Her calloused fingers reached instinctively for the sword that was her constant companion during campaigns.
Then reality washed over her. These were silken sheets beneath her, not the rough canvas of a field tent. The sounds weren't combat but training—fierce and determined, yet purposeful.
Every muscle protested as Elysia rose. Three months of campaign had left her body a map of aches and half-healed wounds. She crossed to the window overlooking the eastern courtyard, drawn to the source of the sounds that had stolen her desperately needed rest.
In the pale golden light of dawn, Eren and Naia circled each other below. Morning mist swirled around them, lending an otherworldly quality to their dance with wooden staves.
"Three weeks without fail," came Lyra's voice from the doorway. Her scarred daughter leaned against the frame, her good eye watching the siblings with unmistakable pride. "They start before sunrise every day. Even the palace guards have started betting on their matches."
"And who's favored?" Elysia asked, a hint of amusement warming her voice.
Lyra's lips curved into a small smile. "It changes daily. They're evenly matched, in their own ways."
Below, Naia launched into a storm of strikes, her stave blurring as she targeted her sibling's shoulders, knees, ribs—each vulnerable point targeted with precision born of years of training. Eren met each blow with fluid parries, wrists bending like willow branches to redirect the force.
"Naia has the discipline," Sorrel observed, joining them at the window, favoring her bad leg as she always did in the mornings. "But Eren has... something I can't name."
That unnamed quality revealed itself as Eren suddenly transformed defense into attack. Where Naia fought with the structured precision of military training, Eren's movements followed no single tradition. Water-dancing flowed into staff techniques, punctuated by movements that seemed born in the moment.
"It's as if Eren can feel Naia's intentions before she moves," Lyra murmured.