The next day, before dawn had broken over the horizon, Foster and Orëlas were already standing silently in the clearing. The morning mist still snaked through the trees, enveloping the place in an almost sacred calm. Foster's dragon was still sleeping peacefully, but on this day, attention was focused on an entirely different learning experience.
The moment had come.
Orëlas, dressed in a light tunic, wooden training sword in hand, watched Foster with strained attention. His muscles, tired from the previous days of physical exertion, were still burning, but he was holding on. He was ready for the next step.
Foster, his own katana strapped to his belt, stepped calmly into the center of the clearing. His gaze became more serious than usual, imbued with a solemn gravity.
