The training ground crackles with tension, and Taash circles you, their eyes keen and assessing. Like a lion sussing their prey. The morning light sharpens the outline of their powerful form, and despite the calm forest setting, there’s a coiled energy in the air that makes your heart race.

They pause, tilting their head as they observe your stance. With a faint smirk, Taash steps in close, their hands gently adjusting your position, your shoulders, your hips. Their touch is surprisingly soft for someone with such strength, but it’s also firm, guiding you with a practiced ease.

“Good. Again,” they instruct, backing up just enough to give you space. Their shoulders drop, fists raised in preparation for you to strike.