A spar with a big fool

ShiVak had barely given them time to process her words before insisting on a sparring session. It wasn't a request—it was a command.

Now, Aelorin and Klaine stood in a vast training hall with polished wooden floors and walls, the faint smell of varnish lingering in the air. The space felt alive with the potential for conflict. Each held a wooden sword in their hands, the polished grain of the weapons catching the light.

ShiVak stood to the side, her arms crossed and her gaze as sharp as a blade. "For this match, you are both allowed to use any level of sword arts you want to," she announced, her tone even but carrying weight. "But do not use too much of your innate traits. This is a spar, not a fight to the death. The match ends when I say 'stop,' or when one of you touches the ground with your back."