As the night draped its velvety cloak over the desert, casting an ethereal glow upon the oasis, I found myself drawn to the gentle whispers emanating from the water's edge. Curiosity tugged at my senses like an insistent child, urging me to uncover the source of the soft splashes echoing in the moonlit darkness.

Approaching cautiously, I brushed aside the swaying bushes, revealing a sight that stole the breath from my lungs and left me momentarily speechless. There, bathed in the silvery luminescence of the moon and the twinkling embrace of the stars, stood a young woman, her silhouette a portrait of quiet elegance against the shimmering water.

Her presence commanded attention, a poignant blend of beauty and melancholy etched into every line of her delicate features. With skin kissed by the desert sun and eyes that gleamed like molten gold, she exuded a timeless allure that left me mesmerized. Never before had I beheld such radiance, such poignancy in a single glance.

Yet, despite the allure of her captivating gaze, I found myself retreating, a shadow of uncertainty clouding my thoughts. It wasn't shyness that held me back but the haunting memory of betrayal and deception. Gary's treachery still lingered like a bitter aftertaste, a reminder that beauty could be a facade, concealing darker truths beneath its surface.

I returned to the camp, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and curiosity. The image of the woman by the oasis lingered in my mind, her golden eyes haunting me. As I approached, I found Eldran already there, his piercing gaze fixed on me.

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice as calm and unyielding as always.

"I... just went to drink some water," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

Eldran studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Get some rest. We're close to our destination."

I lay down, but sleep eluded me. My mind kept drifting back to the woman by the water, her sad eyes and the serene beauty of the moonlit scene. I had never seen someone so captivating, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more, something hidden beneath the surface. I shook my head, reminding myself of my purpose. I didn't have time for distractions. Revenge was the only thing that mattered.

The next morning, our training resumed. Eldran drilled me relentlessly on how to throw a proper punch. Each session was grueling, but I could feel myself getting stronger, more precise.

"You seem distracted," Eldran noted one day, his sharp eyes narrowing as he watched me. "Is there something on your mind?"

I hesitated, the image of the woman flashing before me again. But I shook it off. "No, it's nothing. Just tired."

Eldran didn't press further, but his gaze told me he wasn't convinced. I tried to focus, to push all other thoughts aside. I needed to be strong. I needed to be ready.

Days passed, each one blending into the next. The endless repetitions of punches and the weight of the stones in my clothes became a familiar rhythm. And then, one morning, Eldran nodded approvingly.

"You've done well," he said. "It's time to move on to something else. Footwork."

I looked at him, intrigued. "Footwork?"

Eldran nodded. "The way you move is as important as the way you punch. If you can't move efficiently, not only you can not land your blow, you'll be an easy target as well."

He led me to a patch of sand and pointed. "Walk across this, and then come back."

I did as he asked, feeling the sand shift beneath my feet. When I returned, Eldran pointed to the tracks I had left. "Notice anything?"

I studied the tracks and frowned. "Even with the weights, my footsteps are light. They don't sink much."

Eldran nodded. "That's the essence of proper footwork. It's about distributing your weight evenly, using the balls of your feet to minimize impact. Think of it like this: a heavy step sinks you into the sand, making you slower and more predictable. A light step keeps you agile and harder to track."

He demonstrated, moving across the sand with such fluidity that his footsteps barely left a mark. "It's not just about being light on your feet," he explained. "It's about controlling your center of gravity, staying balanced, and anticipating your opponent's movements. Every step should be purposeful, every movement calculated."

I watched, fascinated, as Eldran moved. His steps were almost a dance, each one deliberate and controlled. "Now, you try," he said, stepping back.

I took a deep breath and began to mimic his movements, focusing on keeping my steps light and my balance steady. It was harder than it looked, but with each attempt, I felt a little more control, a little more fluidity.

For days, we practiced, Eldran's watchful eyes correcting my every mistake. Each session pushed me further, demanding more precision and control. The weights in my clothes were a constant reminder of the challenges I faced, but they also became a part of me, an anchor that grounded my movements.

As days pass, I began to feel the change. My movements grew smoother, my steps more deliberate. The desert, once a place of endless struggle, became a training ground, each grain of sand a testament to my progress.

One evening, after a particularly intense session, Eldran looked at me with a rare glint of approval in his eyes. "You're getting it, brat" he said. "But remember, this is just the beginning. Mastering footwork is a lifelong journey."

Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I couldn't hold back any longer. "And stop calling me 'brat.' I have a name. It's Su!"

Eldran raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He simply turned and continued with the training, leaving my outburst hanging in the air.

My anger simmered, but I focused on my movements, determined to prove myself. Each step became more deliberate, each movement more controlled.