The clinking of metal echoed throughout the training arena as the edge of the sword sliced through the air and hit at the dummy, straw flying every which way as he struck the creaky old thing. Aiken had been so enthralled in his training that he was constantly pushing his limits and pouring into his passion. Today was no different, as little grunts of effort left his lips with each movement. Sweat trickles down the young squire’s forehead as the sun beams down onto him his emerald eyes squinting to see through it, locked on each swift swing of his lanky limbs and the sword that followed, he hadn’t noticed some of the dummy’s stuffing floating throughout the air and landing in his messy hair. Nor had he noticed the young noble leaning against the fence that surrounded the arena, watching him of all people practice. It wasn’t until the young noble’s voice cut through the air that he hurriedly turned around. His breath hitching in slight surprise.