Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 16

Dressed in the  riding leathers Baela had gifted her, Aenyra tightened the final strap before turning to the mirror. She wove her silver hair into a traditional battle braid, fingers quick and practiced. With one last glance at her reflection, she left her chambers and made her way toward the beach, where she knew Daemon would already be waiting.

The morning sun warmed her face as she stepped out into the crisp sea air. Something about today felt... promising.

"Ready, little dragon?" Daemon called the moment she was within earshot, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Always," she replied confidently.

He tossed her a dull-edged training sword, which she caught with ease. She arched a brow. "Straight to swords? No laps today?"

Daemon's grin widened. "Not today. Today, we see what you're truly made of. No more going easy."

Her brows lifted. "Wait... you've been going easy on me?"
She shook her head, a fierce grin forming as she fell into stance.
"Alright then, no holding back."

Aenyra and Daemon stood facing one another, swords in hand, their bare feet planted firmly in the sand as the distant crash of waves set the rhythm of the morning. The sharp clang of metal rang out as their blades met, echoing across the beach. They circled each other with fluid, measured steps—two dragons in human form, locked in a dance as old as their bloodline.

Daemon's eyes were sharp with focus and unrelenting determination. Aenyra's gaze, however, burned with something deeper—unwavering determination. She wasn't just training. She was fighting. Fighting to prove something—not to him, but to herself.

Each strike nearly sent sparks flying, their swords clashing with a harmony that only that of shared training could produce. They moved as one, anticipating each other's next steps with a kind of instinctual grace. It was a language spoken not in words, but in motion—father and daughter bound by fire and steel.

But today felt different. She could feel it deep in her bones, humming in her blood like dragonfire. This wasn't just another morning on the beach. Today, something would shift. Today, she would best him.

Gritting her teeth, Aenyra fueled her every strike with renewed strength and determination. Her blade cut through the air with purpose, pushing Daemon back with every blow. He matched her, at first, but the rhythm had changed—and he felt it, too. His face was a mixture of surprise and pride, watching the storm he had helped shape now rise against him. But buried beneath the pride was something else—a glimmer of alarm. She was overpowering him.

As they continued, Aenyra's movements grew faster, more aggressive. Her sword flashed in the sunlight like lightning, and her breath came in short, controlled bursts. She moved with fury—controlled but wild, like the dragons of old—and in one swift maneuver, she ducked low, pivoted, and with a powerful upward swing, knocked Daemon's sword clean from his grip. It landed in the sand several feet away with a heavy thud.

Daemon froze.

Aenyra stood before him, chest rising and falling with exertion, her blade steady in hand pointed to his chest. A triumphant smile played on her lips, and in her eyes was a fierce, glowing pride.

She had done it.

She had finally done it.

And if felt so good.

For a long moment, Daemon said nothing. He stared at her—his daughter, who was beginning to become his equal—with a silence that spoke louder than any praise. His chest rose slowly as he caught his breath, and a storm of emotions flickered across his face—pride, humility... and the quiet sadness that came with the passing of a torch.