II - Sigh of Smoke

Chapter 51 - Stars

-Aleksandra Bane-

On the third day, Atlanta practiced. There was something about seeing her carry a sword in her hand that seemed refreshing, as if her spirits were finally recovered. Aleksandra was—oddly enough—relieved. They had their late breakfast, their lunch, and their supper uninterrupted by the other inhabitants of King Cragon's palace, all meals acting as breaks for Atlanta's last minute training. The peace was definitely wanted.

Who exactly appreciated being watched anyway? It was as if the Zarkarians were expecting them to pull a few fascinating tricks every two seconds. Seeing such a diverse group must've been bizarre, but it wasn't like Aleksandra was going to roll over for them to amaze them more.

The Dragon Blessed were supposed to be made up of an Entherian, a Wyvengardian, a Valenthese, and a Zarkarian. Their intruding eyes were very much unwelcome, even if the Dragon Vessels seemed to be quite the spectacle.

"Again," Atlanta said, beckoning Lucan with two fingers, silvery, yellow hairs sticking to her pink cheeks where they had strayed from her short ponytail. She had worn a sleeveless tunic and a baggy pair of short britches, both darkened with sweat and weighted by the overbearing sun. They clung to her, revealing her toned form and the sinewy muscle beneath her tanning skin. Regardless of the radiating warmth and energy from her body, her eyes were steady and focused. Like ice, exactly how everyone knew them to be.

Though no one said it, there was something to the ice that was warm. Like the sun had finally risen over a vast valley of ice, glinting golden flecks dancing over the frozen surface to the rhythm of the world's bated breath.

Lucan was practicing with a Zarkarian scimitar himself, although he had initially handled it with less grace than what was desired. Even so, as the day slowly came to an end, the blade seemed to become easier to carry, and even his steps were less awkward.

Perhaps Atlanta and Lucan's hundredth spar of the day began in a flurry of glinting blades, and loud clashes. Aleksandra watched, mystified, as they rounded the vast balcony, which Atlanta claimed to have been used for when she was training when she was younger. Its sanded, stained floor, along with the surprising lack of shrubbery and colour, supported her statement.

A throwing dagger twirled in Aleksandra's fingers as she watched them take their dance over their stage. Even though this was supposed to be a day to freshen Atlanta's skills, it seemed quite a bit like readying Lucan for the possibility of having to fight a Zarkarian who was trained in arts far different from his own.

"Aleks?" A voice coaxed her from her reverie.

Aleksandra turned, eyebrows raised as her gaze met with stormy grey eyes.

Dareon stared back at her expectantly, and her only response was, "what?"

He chuckled. "You gonna teach me proper or not?"

She blinked. "Oh, right," she mumbled before approaching him, handing him the slender knife which was made especially for being thrown. Atlanta had taken them to the armoury, and Aleksandra had felt the need to take everything off their placement, but she was merciful and only took down the throwing daggers. Even in the end, she wasn't the one who needed to use it. "Okay then, right foot forward—no, you're right, you dimwit—and relax. I said relax. Now, you've gotta stand up straight for this—"

"—I know these things already," Dareon interrupted, frowning slightly.

Aleksandra scowled back ferociously. "And look again, you're so confident that you're not doing anything right. You're not relaxing anymore either. You have to relax."