Chapter 4: The Grip of Stone
The axe was heavier than the sword.
It dragged differently—top-heavy, uneven in the swing, like it wanted to fall out of his hands and bury itself in the dirt. Leon kept his grip locked and adjusted his stance. The handle was too short to give him reach, but the weight pulled clean through the air when he moved fast enough.
Not elegant. Just brutal.
He exhaled and brought it down again.
The thud echoed in the quiet yard.
He reset his feet and swung sideways, aiming for the invisible ribs of a man who wasn't there. His heel slipped slightly on the packed soil, but he corrected. His body still fought him—still remembered how to be soft.
But not for long.
The next swing came easier. Not lighter, but cleaner.
By the fifth, his shoulders throbbed. By the eighth, his fingers burned.
He stopped at ten.
Not because he wanted to—but because his hands wouldn't hold it any longer.