[House Karzath—The Night Before the Final Tournament—Midnight]
SLASH—!SPIN—!CLANG—!
Steel screamed through the practice hall.
The training effigy shuddered under the force of the blow, its wooden frame splintering where the spear struck true. Rakhane moved like a blade given will—precise, relentless, and merciless. Sweat traced lines down his back as the moonlight spilled through high lattice windows, catching the red gleam of his eyes.
Again.
SLASH—!
The spear head tore through straw and bone-joints alike.
The empire slept, but treason did not. Rakhane halted at last, chest rising, breath heavy—not with exhaustion, but with anticipation. He turned sharply as soft footsteps approached.
Sareth-Min stepped forward, head lowered. He held out a cloth with both hands.
"High Ensi," he said carefully, voice hushed in reverence and fear, "is there a reason you train at such an hour?"
Rakhane took the cloth and wiped the spearhead slowly and deliberately, and then he smirked.
