Eight Years Later

"526…""557…""601…"

Each number echoed like a metronome in the early morning light as Lyrasia swung her sword in a practiced arc, each strike sending a vivid splash of blood across the grassy plain.

In the digital haze that followed, it almost seemed as if her blows were pixelating the world around her, boars fell like poorly rendered sprites, their bodies splintering into a flurry of colorful fragments.

"Okay, I think that's all for today…" she murmured, lowering her sword with a flourish.

With a decisive slash, she flicked away the remaining droplets of blood, sending them swirling through the air until they disappeared into the ether.

After her impromptu combat session, Lyrasia trudged over to the nearby river.

The water, clear as polished glass, lapped gently at the shore.

She dipped her sword into the cool stream, letting the water wash away the remnants of her exertions.