As Lyon and the group strolled further, laughter trailing behind them, a sudden shift in the air quieted their voices. A soft but steady whisper filled the breeze, a rhythmic hum rising from the vast training ground ahead.
There, centered in the open field, was a lone figure. A woman, her dark hair damp with sweat, moved fluidly, wielding her sword with unyielding grace. Her breathing was calm, as still and boundless as the sky above, each strike neither rushed nor delayed but falling exactly in ti with so unseen rhythm. She was fully attuned to her craft, unwavering yet boundless. This woman was Selena.
Aleysius paused, his gaze sharpening with intrigue. He watched as ethereal sword hymns began to resonate around her, each one intensifying as her concentration deepened. The air around her vibrated in reverence to her mastery, the hymns weaving together into a quiet symphony.
One hymn, two... then four... eight... until their numbers defied the eye, blurring into a radiant aura of pure skill and dedication. Aleysius’s eyes widened, a rare look of admiration crossing his usually composed face.
"She has reached the pinnacle," he murmured, the words tinged with awe. "To command such harmony with a blade... this is the ultimate essence of weapon mastery."
Selena moved through the dense tapestry of hymns as if it were second nature. She was no longer simply wielding her sword; she was the sword, her spirit and steel entwined beyond mortal understanding. The entire group had fallen silent, captivated by the quiet power unfolding before them.
Lyon’s chuckle lingered as he motioned toward Selena, his gaze warm with pride. "And that," he said with a hint of humor, "is your daughter-in-law."
Aleysius let out a soft exhale, unable to look away. Beside him, Alistair was struck silent by the display, though his eyes shone with sothing close to reverence. "Incredible... She handles each hymn with such precision," he murmured, almost to himself. "I’ve spent a lifeti with a sword, yet even I couldn’t command this level of mastery. With but a single strike, she could sever the heads of a hydra without missing a beat."
"There was indeed a ti like that," Lyon remarked, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "But she’s deeply focused right now." He then glanced at Alistair, extending his hand. "Lend your sword."
Alistair gave a respectful nod, placing the sword gently into Lyon’s waiting palm. "Certainly, Your Majesty." The weapon glead as if it were alive, its blade a serene sky-blue with faint clouds swirling within, enchanted by the rare ore, Heavenly Prism. "It’s called the Skyblade," he said proudly.
"Yes, yes..." Lyon replied, turning the sword in his hand as if testing its weight. He swung it lightly, its balanced grace imdiately at ho in his grip. "It’s so light," he mused, his fingers tracing the familiar yet foreign feel of the Skyblade. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped silently onto the training ground.
From behind, he moved toward Selena, each step soundless. The sword hymns fluttered around her, brushing Lyon’s shoulders and arms like a welcoming breeze. The entire garden seed to hold its breath as he approached her from behind, watching to see if she would sense his presence among the thrumming power of her concentrated hymns.
Lyon’s smirk widened, his sword hymn flaring to life, a vibrant echo of Selena’s. The air vibrated with energy as his hymn shot forward to et hers, their clashing lodies filling the training ground with an almost ethereal song.
"Of course..." Alistair murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "He could do it as well."
Selena turned at the sound, her expression softening. "Darling..."
Lyon raised the Skyblade high, and with a flick of his wrist, a hundred hymns gathered above him, coalescing like storm clouds before a downpour. "Entertain , just like old tis," he said, eyes gleaming.
A spark lit behind Selena’s gaze as she summoned her own hymns to match. Her stance shifted, calm and steady, mirroring his exact height of skill and power. "A spar from the school days?" She grinned, eyes bright with challenge.
They stood across from each other, a sea of floating hymns poised above each of them. For a single, breathless mont, they simply looked at one another, the quiet anticipation swelling between them.
"Go," Lyon whispered.
In an instant, they surged forward, hymns trailing like cot tails. The first strike rang out, a crack that seed to split the air. Lyon’s blade t hers, a symphony of power and elegance. Each clash was asured, precise, neither one overpowering the other, yet each stroke reverberated with the force of a mountain.
Selena’s gaze never wavered, her movents as fluid as water. "You’ve improved, haven’t you?" she teased, breathless but steady.
"And you’ve hardly changed at all," Lyon replied, smiling even as his blade pressed down with relentless strength.
Around them, their hymns collided in cascading bursts of energy, shimring in the garden’s light, leaving Alistair and the others watching in silent awe. They weren’t rely sparring; they were dancing in perfect, deadly harmony, a performance only possible between two who knew each other’s every strength and flaw.
Lyon and Selena circled each other, their gazes locked, every movent asured. The air between them was tense, vibrating with the energy of their resolve. This ti, there would be no hymns, no enhancent—just raw skill and the unspoken bond of two warriors who knew each other better than anyone else.
With a sudden burst, Lyon leapt forward, and Selena mirrored his movent. They collided mid-air, blade against blade, each strike echoing with thunderous force. Their movents were a blur, too fast to follow, each parry an answer to the other’s strike. The two seed evenly matched, bound in a relentless rhythm that left no room for error.
The clash raged on for two intense minutes, until Selena’s brow lifted, a hint of amusent in her eyes as she slowed and lowered her sword. Lyon’s blade stopped just at her neck, his smirk barely concealing his satisfaction.
"I win," he declared, voice steady.
"Yes, darling," Selena replied, a proud smile on her lips, but her gaze was unyielding.
"But it wasn’t because of better skill," Lyon added, nodding down to her sword as a hairline crack crept along its edge.
Selena watched as her blade began to splinter. "Of course," she chuckled, "you just have a better sword."
As Lyon approached his father and the others, Alistair couldn’t help but clap, impressed by the display of skill between Lyon and Selena. The rest followed suit, their hands coming together in approval of the fierce, yet graceful duel.
Lyon smiled, acknowledging their praise. "Co, let introduce you to my father," he said, gesturing toward Aleysius and Simak. The group followed as they made their way toward the towering figures standing at the side.
Selena stepped forward first, her posture dignified, her movents graceful as always. "I’m Selena, Selena Torga," she said, bowing slightly in respect. "Well t, father."
Aleysius’s eyes glimred with interest as he looked her over. "Your way with the sword is an absolute masterpiece," he said with admiration, leaning slightly forward. "Please tell that you have a better sword than that scrap of tal you just wielded."
Selena’s smile deepened, and she nodded, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Darling has given an array of swords back in our adventuring days," she explained. "I got that one from one of my students who opened a pawnshop in Fifth Heaven."
"A pawnshop?" Simak raised a brow, clearly intrigued by the idea of finding such a weapon in such an unexpected place.
"But surely you have your own regalia, right?" Simak pressed further, his curiosity evident.
Selena’s smile remained as she nodded gracefully. "Of course," she replied, her tone both humble and knowing.
Alistair, still absorbing the weight of their conversation, muttered thoughtfully to himself. "A regalia... just like my Skyblade..." His voice trailed off as he wondered aloud, "I wonder what it looks like. A weapon that could keep up with her skill must be extraordinary."
The question hung in the air, leaving everyone wondering just how far the depth of Selena’s weaponry reached. Her regalia, no doubt, was an artifact of imnse power—sothing that could rival even the mightiest of blades in the hands of its true master.
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