Rudra awoke at the break of dawn, the faintest hues of pink and gold brushing the horizon, casting a soft glow through the window of his room. The silence of the early morning wrapped itself around him, soothing in its stillness. But within him, there was no peace—only the nagging awareness of his body's exhaustion, the aftermath of yesterday's exertions. Yet, even with his muscles screaming in protest, there was no expression on his face. He didn't needed to act as normal now there was no one to look at him , not accustomed to the luxury of feeling.

His routine was quiet, methodical, as he rose from his bed and made his way to the washbasin. The cool water splashed against his skin, but there was no reaction. No enjoyment in the sensation of it running down his face, no relief. It was just something to do, something necessary. Each movement, precise and calculated, lacked any spark of enthusiasm or discomfort. Rudra didn't think about the aches in his body, nor did he long for rest. He simply washed, dressed, and prepared for the day ahead, like a machine going through the motions.

When he was ready, he turned his attention to his true purpose: training. The thought had been lingering in the back of his mind since yesterday—something that had stirred within him when he witnessed Ray and Vidar spar. The idea of wielding two blades, of mastering that art, had become an obsession, not out of desire, but out of the necessity to improve.

Without hesitation, he moved toward the practice ground. The air outside was crisp, the early morning mist clinging to the ground, making the earth feel soft beneath his feet. The sun had just begun to rise, casting long shadows from the sparse trees lining the training area. The practice ground was vast, an open space of dirt and grass, surrounded by high walls that gave the impression of being trapped in a cage. The ground was worn from countless days of training, patches of grass giving way to exposed earth. The smell of dew clung to the air, and the sound of birds chirping in the distance was a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped Rudra.

The place was almost sacred to him in its quietude—his sanctuary. The distant sound of metal clashing against metal reached his ears from a nearby area, where other warriors might be practicing their forms. But for now, the only thing that mattered was him, and the dual blades.

He approached the weapons rack and picked up two longblade The weight of them felt natural in his hands, as if they were extensions of his arms. There was no hesitation, no confusion, only a sense of cold precision. He raised the blades, studying them for a moment. The smoothness of the hilt, the gleam of the metal, everything about them felt… right. He didn't care whether they were sharp or dull, whether they could cut through flesh or merely serve as a tool for practice. What mattered was the ability to use them, to wield them with efficiency.

His body shifted into position without thought. The motions were practiced, every stance, every movement, a carefully executed step in a ritual he had performed countless times in his mind . But today, something was different. Today, he would use two swords, and remembered the dual between Ray and Vidar do. The movements were fluid, practiced in their own right, but there was something more—an additional layer of complexity that he hadn't anticipated. His arms ached as he switched between stances, the blades slicing through the air with ease. It was as though they had always been in his hands, as if he had known how to wield two blades for as long as he could remember.

There was no triumph, no joy, only the simple satisfaction of knowing that he was doing it. He wasn't surprised by how easily he adapted. His mind didn't care for triumphs or losses. It simply understood. The blades moved in sync with his body, responding to his silent commands as if they were alive, yet there was no sense of connection, no bond formed between him and the weapons. They were just tools. Tools to be mastered, used, and discarded when no longer needed.

His body soon began to protest. The burning in his muscles intensified as he continued to mimic the techniques he had observed in Ray and Vidar's sparring. He pushed through the strain, his breath quickening, the sweat beginning to trickle down his brow. Yet there was no pause, no desire to stop. His mind was focused on one thing: imitating their movements. He had to get it right. It was the only thing that mattered. The ache in his muscles only fueled his drive to continue.

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In the back of his mind, Rudra thought of the sparring match. He had observed Ray and Vidar's every move, noting the precision of their strikes, the fluidity with which they moved. Ray's power, Vidar's grace—they were both skilled in their own ways, and Rudra could see it now. Their techniques were not just about strength or speed—they were about control. Every motion had purpose. Every strike was calculated. Rudra could feel his body straining to match that level of mastery.

As he moved through the techniques, imitating their every strike, he began to lose himself in the rhythm of it. The sound of the blades cutting through the air, the movements of his body, it all became a blur. His breathing was shallow now, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. The weight of the swords felt heavier with each passing second, the pain in his muscles growing. He had to stop, but he didn't. He kept going, pushing past the fatigue, because it was necessary. He needed to be better. The desire to master the technique, to learn it fully, overshadowed everything else.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he lowered the blades, his body trembling with exhaustion. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his legs buckled slightly beneath him. He could feel the ache in his arms, his back, his core. He had mimicked their movements, but it had taken everything from him. His body was not built to move like that—not yet.

*Physical training,* he thought. *It's not just the technique that matters. It's the strength to endure it.*

The words hung in the air as he stood, struggling to catch his breath. His eyes were empty, void of any emotional response to the agony he was feeling. It was just a physical limit, a challenge he had to overcome. He would find a way to push beyond it. He had to.

As if on cue, Ray and Riven appeared, entering the practice grounds with their usual quiet grace. Ray was the first to speak, his voice casual but carrying a note of concern. "When did you arrive?" he asked, glancing at Riven. The conversation felt light, but Rudra could hear the underlying tension in their voices.

Riven, his pale features sharp in the morning light, answered with a calm tone. "Not long ago. I had some things to attend to." His gaze shifted toward Rudra, narrowing slightly as he observed the boy's state.

Rudra met Riven's eyes for a moment, but there was no change in his expression. No recognition. No curiosity. Just an empty stare.

Ray turned to Rudra, his eyes softening slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asked, though Rudra could tell it was more out of habit than concern.

Rudra started his act again while smiling "I'm fine," Rudra replied the words as warm as the air around them. There was no need to explain himself. No need to acknowledge the pain that lingered in his body. He would endure it, as he always did.

Riven's eyes flicked between Ray and Rudra, then returned to the boy. "You've been pushing yourself," he remarked, though his voice was detached, as though he was truly concerned. "The body has its limits."

Rudra didn't respond. He didn't need to. Instead, he took a step forward, still panting slightly, and addressed Riven directly. "What do I need to do to handle every movement I'm imitating ?"

Riven studied him for a long moment before answering. "Your body needs more than just technique. It needs conditioning. Strengthening. Flexibility. Control. Your muscles need to learn to flow, to move in harmony. You need to push them to the point where they don't just follow orders—they act on instinct."

Riven paused, letting his words sink in. "Work on your core strength. Your endurance. Focus on breathing, on finding rhythm between your body and your actions. And above all, train your mind to push through pain. The body is weak when the mind is weak."

Ray nodded, adding, "It's not enough to just imitate the techniques. You need the stamina to carry them out, the endurance to last. Otherwise, you'll break before you can finish."

Rudra absorbed their words in silence, his face still, emotionless. He didn't need to acknowledge them. He would do what was necessary. And he would do it without feeling.

Turning toward the training area, he began to follow Riven's advice, moving through exercises designed to strengthen his body. Push-ups. Leg stretches. Core exercises. Every movement was deliberate, every breath counted. The pain in his muscles flared, but he ignored it, just as he had ignored everything else. His body would grow stronger. His muscles would learn. And when they were ready, he would push further.

Hours passed, and Rudra's movements grew more fluid, more controlled. His body was slowly beginning to adapt, to respond to the strain. Sweat dripped from his brow, but he did not falter. Every push of his muscles, every stretch, was a small victory. There was no satisfaction in it. No joy. Only the quiet, unfeeling knowledge that he was doing what needed to be done.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the training ground, a servant approached with a respectful bow. "Lord has called all the prince," the servant announced.

Rudra straightened immediately, his face still and impassive....