The sun was sinking behind the ivory spires of Westwood Castle, washing the stone in ribbons of rose and burnished gold. Evening bells had long since rung, and the castle had begun to quiet - courtiers retreating to their chambers, servants finishing their rounds, the day surrendering to dusk.

Yet the courtyard was not empty.

A lone figure moved with relentless precision at its center. Steel flashed as Dame Grand Cross Kendra drove her sword through practiced forms, every strike measured, every turn exact. Her armor bore the marks of use rather than ornament, and sweat traced a path down her temple, though her posture never wavered. She was so focused she almost didn’t hear the soft echo of footsteps beneath the arches.

Almost.

Kendra halted mid-motion, blade snapping into a guarded position as she turned sharply toward the sound, eyes narrowing beneath her brow. “Halt,” she commanded, voice firm and carrying easily through the courtyard. “Identify thyself at once.”