The sun blazed fiercely, casting a harsh, golden light over the beach and infinite sea. Edmund moved with the grace of a dancer across the sand, his eyes squinted against the glare, his skin a canvas of freckles, as it always was this time of year. His shirt fluttered in the breeze, a faded navy blue that bore witness to countless hours under this unforgiving sun. — He was practicing his swordplay, solo. Again.

As Edmund's blade sliced through the salty air, the sand responded in a flurry, kicking up small clouds that pirouetted around himself. The beach was indeed a demanding teacher, one Edmund had come to embrace, finding a strange comfort in the way the hot granules felt beneath his feet, grounding him in the reality of his world.

He had noticed Peter's lack of enthusiasm for sparring lately, but brushed it off, blaming it to the older boy's newfound responsibilities. He was innocent to the envy that grew in Peter's heart as he watched his younger brother's skill surpass his own, a tough pill to swallow.

"You know, Peter used to love this," Edmund said, panting slightly as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, and to look at you. "We'd spend hours out here, clanging swords. But lately, it's like he's got better things to do."