MIDAS
The edges of their swords clash against each other.
Sparks flying, their reflections distorted in the glistening silver of the blades.
The steel edges press against each other, neither giving in.
He is distracted, not really paying attention to the match and he sees the feint of the opponent’s second blade a moment too late.
He is forced to step out of the way of the sword, breaking the face off.
They circle each other slowly, each waiting for the other to make their next move.
His eyes and his hands know what to do. Fighting is in his blood, it is instinctual and he does not really need to think about the motions, so his mind wanders; like it has been prone to do in the last few days.
He has been in a bad mood since that night.
And Er’gan’s continued silence has done nothi
