The training grew more intense as time slipped away unnoticed, the golden hues of daylight fading into the abyss of night. Darkness crept in, casting long shadows across the battered training field, now marred with cracks and indentations, each scar in the earth a silent testament to the ferocity of their clashes.
Karl, Kola, Lunara, and Theodric stood in various states of exhaustion, their bodies drenched in sweat, their breaths ragged and uneven. Some struggled to stay upright, swaying on trembling legs, while others knelt, palms pressed against the shattered ground in a desperate attempt to steady themselves.
Across from them stood Nyxander, unwavering, an imposing figure amid the chaos. Aside from the dust clinging to his clothes, mere remnants of the brutal exchange, he appeared untouched, as if he had danced through the battle unscathed. His piercing gaze bore into them, unreadable yet commanding.