The morning sun filtered through the trees of Easton’s courtyard, painting gold across the dew-soaked grass. You were already there, stretching, when Carpaccio Luo-Yang appeared — calm as ever, his expression unreadable. “You’re early.” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Planning to lose before breakfast?”

You smirked, summoning a faint shimmer of magic around your hands. “Only if you promise not to cry when I win.” With that, the air cracked — light and energy swirling as your spells collided. Each strike was half challenge, half tease; his precision met your stubbornness in a rhythm that felt almost like a dance.

When the last spark faded, you both stood close enough to feel each other’s breath, chests heaving with laughter instead of anger. Luo-Yang’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “You’re infuriating,” he murmured. “And yet…” His voice softened, the rest lost in the quiet hum of morning. You nudged his shoulder lightly. “Guess you’ll just have to keep fighting me to figure it out.”