Sebastian had finished taking his break and was about to unsheathe his sword once more when the doors of the arena creaked open, allowing Fynn to slip inside.
“Sire,” he said, sitting down near the bottom of the staircase and leaning back casually. He had the usual soldier uniform on; a black t-shirt, dark gray cargo pants, black combat boots, and a belt with all his weapons sheathed and attached to it. It was rare for Fynn to be caught wearing armor, even the thin chainmail that most soldiers were required to wear.
Smiling teasingly at Sebastian, he added, “How’s your practice going?”
Fynn didn’t have required practice sessions like Sebastian because he’d finished his four year training course last year. The training program for soldiers was for twelve to sixteen year olds, which meant this year would be the last year of it for Sebastian.
Sebastian gave him an icy stare and spit out, “It’s going fine, thank you very much.”
For once, Fynn didn’t look fazed by the angry look that his brother was giving him. Instead, his smiled widened. “You look like a zombie, moving slowly like that. How long have you been here?”
Hesitating for a moment, Sebastian tried to hide how exhausted he felt. “Six hours,” he admitted. He lurched sideways as his vision began to spin, almost falling over before catching himself. Hurriedly, he added, “But I’m fine and I’m planning to keep practicing for another hour or two.”