The next morning, Darion was back in the courtyard before dawn. The sky was still dark, the stars faintly visible overhead. He had the sword and the manual with him, and he was ready to work.
Garren arrived shortly after, his footsteps quiet on the stone. He was carrying a water skin and a cloth, his expression focused. "Ready?" he asked.
Darion nodded. "Ready."
Garren worked with Darion on the next set of moves from the manual.
The sequences were more complex than the first set, requiring multiple steps and precise timing. Each movement had to flow seamlessly into the next, with no hesitation, no breaks. The pattern was demanding, pushing Darion's body to its limits.
Darion struggled. His body resisted the positions the manual demanded, his muscles aching.
The movements felt unnatural, contorted, and his coordination was off. He stumbled through the sequence, his sword clattering against the stone ground.
"Again," Garren said, his voice calm but firm.
