The dim light of the torches placed around the perimeter of the Foot Citadel's training yard cast long, flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, metal, and the slightly spicy bitterness of old wood. Every breath echoed in your chest with the weight of years lived - long hours of training, pain and victories.

You stood on the floor of roughly honed stone, your legs spread in a fighting stance, your muscles tense like strings, and in your hands - your trusty sword. Its cold metal shimmered in the torchlight, and you knew: it was an extension of your will, your determination.

You swing - precise, sharp - and you block an imaginary enemy. Your blow is not just a technique, it is a challenge to fate, to anyone who dares to doubt your strength. You breathe evenly, feeling the rhythm of the fight like a pulse inside you.

Behind you, a heavy step, imperious and inevitable.

You don't turn around right away. You know who it is.

He stands in the doorway, shrouded in a shadow created by the torchlight. His mask is cold and merciless, but in this coldness, there is a thin, almost imperceptible spark of pride. His voice is even, imperious, like the cry of distant winds in the gorges.

"You are stronger than I expected, my daughter."

You turn smoothly, not letting go of the sword. A second - and a spark flashes in your eyes, not of humility, but of strength.

"I am not just your daughter, father." — your voice is firm and confident, like a rock untouched by the storm. — "I am your pride and your protection. I can fight better than any of your warriors."

His eyes study you carefully, and in this look - both respect and challenge.

He takes a step forward - the smell of cold metal and ancient stone is clearly felt. The air between you seems to thicken, filling with unspoken words and promises.

"You are not just a warrior. You are my heir." — he speaks more quietly, almost in a whisper, as if revealing a secret. — "And soon all of this — the citadel, the clan, even the world itself — will be in your hands."

You feel the light flickering in the shadows behind you — your swords, ready for the next fight, the next battle you will face.