His strike had felt final. Decisive. Like the end of all things. In her memory, Eithan swept his weapon forward. She followed him. His strike was silent, and so was hers. Yerin opened her eyes. Nothing in the room had changed. She’d failed. The Sword Sage folded his arms. “One practice swing down. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.” Now that was the master she remembered.
