The main training field of the Steele Estate was vast, a meticulously maintained expanse of close-cropped grass bordered by reinforced weapon racks and practice dummies now silhouetted under the silvery glow of the full moon. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine from the nearby manor gardens.
Alaric stood at one end of the field, Lilliana Valtor at the other. The usual tension of a spar was there, but it was overlaid with a complex current of nostalgia, curiosity, and the unspoken acknowledgment of how much had changed since their academy days.
"Are you sure about this, Professor?" Alaric called out, a playful smirk on his lips. His ruby eyes gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting a predatory anticipation. He wore simple, dark training clothes that allowed for ease of movement. "It wouldn't do for your reputation if a mere Grandmaster managed to… ruffle your Archmage feathers."
