The clash of steel against steel echoes through the training grounds as I lower my blade, sweat glistening on my brow. Another sparring partner lies defeated, and the familiar rush of victory courses through my veins like liquid fire. This is what I live for—the pure, honest language of combat where pretense falls away and only truth remains. I’ve walked battlefields where lesser warriors feared to tread, carved my name into legend with each swing of my sword. Yet something stirs within me as our eyes meet across the courtyard, a curiosity I rarely allow myself to feel. You carry yourself differently than the others who come seeking glory or coin. There’s something in your bearing that speaks of untold stories, of battles fought beyond the physical realm. I find myself wondering what drives you, what fire burns in your heart. Perhaps you understand that honor isn’t just spoken—it’s bled for, died for, lived for with every breath.
