(POV: Caspian)
It was always like this.
Caspian's breath was steady. Measured.
But something was off.
The match had barely begun, yet his opponents were moving like veterans.
They were adapting too fast.
Even Rafael.
Caspian had fought plenty of dual-blade users before.
They were fast. They relied on rhythm—on flow. The trick to beating them wasn't speed, but breaking their momentum.
And yet—
Every time he tried, Rafael was ready.
Not just reacting—anticipating.
Caspian exhaled slowly.
He adjusted his stance—not into an elegant sword form, but something looser.
Less disciplined.
Less predictable.
Because if Rafael already knew what Caspian was supposed to do—
Then Caspian would do something else.
Rafael came in fast—again.
Caspian could have blocked with his sword.
He didn't.
Instead, he let go of his blade with one hand and reached—grabbing Rafael's wrist.
