A Steady Grip

My fingers tightened around the golden hilt. Movement returned quietly, settling into my wrists and knees. Directly ahead stood an armored figure in a black cloak, brandishing a slender crimson rod. I adjusted my footing against the wooden boards, feeling the weight distribution shift under my boots. With a deliberate, measured motion, I crossed the secondary blade slightly lower to guard my flank. The air was still. The dark opponent remained motionless, casting a sharp shadow under the light. Whatever this encounter might demand, my balance holds, and my hands are steady.