Thrust. Lunge. Parry. Riposte.

The chilly morning air burned his lungs. The sun had just risen above the country of Arcadia, casting rays of light upon the land, illuminating the courtyard below, creating a series of brilliant colors that splashed across the sky with the kind of vibrant artistry that master painters have spent centuries trying to capture on their canvases without success. Pinks, reds, and purples, they all blended together in a beautiful combination of zest and vitality. Apollo, the Spirit of Light who supposedly controlled the rising and setting of the sun, had clearly gone all out that day.

Backstep. Twist. Dodge. Counter.

The innumerable blades of grass that made up the courtyard were slick with morning dew, producing a slippery coat that would have caused serious injury to anyone who was not mindful of where they stepped. Each blade glistened with a gentle luster in the morning sun, sparkling with a pale gleam of crystalline droplets. Many a student had found themselves falling on their backside―or their face―from having not been cautious enough when they walked through the grass covered courtyard on their way to class.

Duck. Roll. Flip. Spin. Slash.

Caspian Ignis del Sol ignored the wondrous scene―as well as the potentially embarrassing danger―and continued to move in a never ending dance across the courtyard. He'd been coming out to this place so often that, whatever danger might have existed, it was negated by ease of practice. He had simply been doing this for so long, and he had already taken so many falls, that he was now able to accommodate for the slippery surface on a subconscious level. An impressive feat, to be sure.

Backpedal. Sidestep. Parry. Lunge.

Continuously moving across the courtyard, Caspian practiced his sword forms by way of shadow sparring. Movement was the key to his form. Constant, never ending movement. Like the water that never ceases even when large boulders and other obstructions bar its path. Like the wind that blew through the clearing, flowing around objects regardless of their shape and mass. Continuous action, speed of movement, following the ebb and flow of battle, remaining ever adaptable regardless of circumstance. These were necessary components of combat, ones that he aimed to master.

Quick movements. Thrust. Sidestep. Take two steps in. Parry. Slash. Move faster.

Each time Caspian attacked, sweat flew off his body in rivulets that soared through the air and splashed against the ground around him. His messy red hair whipped about his face in a furious frenzy as he spun about in a dizzying display of sword attack combinations. His sword arm was a mere blur as he slashed and lunged and cut and sliced. The sun’s luminescent presence reflected off his blade, mere flashes of light that confounded one's sense of sight.

Faster. He needed to be faster.

Vibrant green eyes narrowed as he increased the intensity of his attacks. His muscles visibly bunched as they strained and quaked under the weight of his blade. The sword in his hand was heavy, like a boulder that had been compressed into sword form by the Spirit, Terra. It was much heavier than his usual weapon of choice. But then, that was the whole point, wasn't it? Strength. In order to fully utilize his sword forms, he needed to be stronger; he had to be strong enough that his normal weapon of choice felt like a feather in his hand.

The amount of time Caspian spent outside was indeterminable. He tended to lose himself when he trained. It could even be said that the act of training was his escape from the daily hardships life often threw at him. By the time he was finished, his arms felt like they were weighed down by lead, and his body was covered in a slick sheen of sweat. The clothing he'd chosen to wear, a sleeveless white shirt and black pants, clung to his skin, sticky and wet and altogether uncomfortable. He paid no heed to something so trivial, however, as he'd gotten a good workout in.

A glance at the sun revealed that it was nearly time for the day to start. Everyone else would be waking up soon. It wouldn't be long before the other students started walking down the corridors as they made their way to the cafeteria. If he wanted to take a shower before breakfast, then he would need to head inside now.

Picking up the towel that he had let sit across the glassless granite windowsill, which made a ring around the courtyard, Caspian wiped some of the sweat from his face. He then decided to wipe off the sweat from his underarms, too. After that, he proceeded to enter the large structure surrounding him on all sides.

Arcadia's Knight Academy was a towering mass of brick and mortar. It was a large series of interconnected structures in the shape of a pentagram. Each structure was designed beautifully. They were impressive, cathedral-like buildings that had taken many decades to create. At each intersecting point stood a large, cylindrical tower that jutted into the sky, piercing the heavens, as if to show the Spirits how far man had progressed into their celestial territory. The courtyard that Caspian practiced in was just one of many such locations. There were several more interspersed throughout the academy grounds―and this was one of the smaller ones to boot.

The academy that he attended was considered to be the most prominent school in all of Arcadia, the largest nation located on the continent of Terraria. It was in this very academy that a handful of young noblemen trained to become a Sorceress's Knight, the partner and protector of those who had earned the title of Sorceress due to their ability to summon and command Spirits. This school was a place where only the elite, those of noble lineage, went to receive their training. Among the nobility there was no greater source of pride than becoming a Sorceress's Knight, no higher achievement one could reach.

It almost made Caspian wonder what he was doing in a place like this.