The clone lunged at him once more, her blade flashing in the dim light. Cassian moved instinctively, his feet gliding across the ground. His sword traced arcs in the air, smooth and unbroken, like the leaf's path through the wind. He didn't force his strikes; he let them come naturally, his movements guided by the flow of the battle.
For the first time, he felt truly at ease. Each swing, each step, each parry felt effortless, as though he were no longer fighting against the world but moving with it. The clone's frustration grew with every failed strike, her attacks becoming erratic and desperate.
Cassian smoothly dodged her attack, his movements fluid and seamless as he stepped back and to the side, almost as if carried by an invisible current. Each step was gentle yet precise, building momentum with an effortless grace. Gradually, his speed increased, shifting from the calm drift of a gentle breeze to the sharp, forceful rush of a sudden gust.