The sun had begun to set, the last rays of light pierced the veil of dusk, paving the way for nightfall. The training ground beneath was now filled with a twilight glow, the dirt ground had long since become uneven — but alive. Two figures still moved across it. Fighting for what seemed like forever.
Not out of hatred, or vengeance but something they both felt in their veins.
Joy.
The pleasure rooted itself deep within. They didn't care about victory or even proving themselves — as if they learned about each other from combat instead of words.
They danced. Flesh against flesh. Bone against bone. A rhythm made not of music, but of contact and breath.
They swung with the desperation of survival, fists whipping through the air. Fast, sudden, uncalculated. There was no form. They had run out of energy long ago to even think.
They followed only one thing. The primal knowledge carved into their bodies from instinct.
The body moved and the body remembers.
