POV: Kendrick
The training yard was empty at dawn except for two figures moving through combat forms, Kendrick and Kael, circling each other with the focused intensity of wolves who'd finally found their pack.
"Again," Kendrick ordered, lunging forward.
Kael blocked, twisted, attempted a counter that Kendrick deflected. They'd been at this for an hour, working through fight combinations, testing each other's limits. It was practical preparation for the assault, yes. But it was also something more.
Brotherhood.
"You favor your left side," Kael observed, breaking apart to catch his breath. "Old injury?"
"Broken ribs when I was sixteen. Healed wrong before Mira could set them properly." Kendrick rolled his shoulders. "My father liked to aim for the ribs. Maximum pain, minimal visible damage."
Kael's expression darkened. "Mother preferred the back. Said it taught humility to bear scars where you couldn't see them coming."
