Pyris exhaled, shifting his stance, adjusting the way he held his sword. He'd been too aggressive, too straightforward. Nysa had countered him like it was second nature. He needed to change tactics.
This time, when he lunged, his movements were sharper—not just brute force, but calculated. The wind swirled around them, stirred by the force of his step. He feinted left, then twisted his wrist, redirecting his blade at the last second—
CLACK!
Nysa's stick met his sword perfectly, intercepting his attack like she saw it coming a mile away. The impact sent a sharp vibration through his arms, the sound ringing through the clearing.
"You're still telegraphing too much," she mused, spinning the stick effortlessly, the wind catching the motion like it was weightless. Her clothes barely moved, a stark contrast to the rippling force that followed her movements. "Your eyes give away your next move before your body even commits."