The training ground buzzed with the sounds of clashing swords, the sharp ring of metal against metal echoing in the crisp morning air. Iyana stood at the center, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring ready to unleash. Across from her, her sparring partner wore a lopsided grin on his face.
"You know, Vice-Commander," Terrence began, rolling his shoulders to loosen them, "You don't need to practice harder for this duel with Commander Pembrooke." They have been training for hours, longer than usual, for a whole week now, and Terrence was this close to keeling over from exhaustion from trying to keep up with Iyana's monstrous stamina. "It is going to be a breeze. The man can barely walk, and his Aura has been on the fritz for months. You could probably win this in your sleep," he tried to convince her for the umpteenth time.