Journey
Peter stepped out of the shooting range, the metallic tang of gunpowder still lingering in the air. As he exited, a disconcerting feeling gnawed at his gut. He couldn't help but wonder why his aim had suddenly gone awry, veering off course with unsettling irregularity. It was a disheartening contrast to the precision he had prided himself on for years.
Had he grown rusty? Peter had diligently trained for three years, ever since the conclusion of the last Heather-Ike war. Even during the past year, when he had dabbled in paintball, his accuracy remained steadfast. The palace's training grounds, though less volatile than real combat, had always provided the perfect environment for honing his skills. So, why had his aim abandoned him now?