The clash of metal rang out in sharp bursts, followed by the low thud of a body hitting the stone floor. The Archivist's study was silent otherwise, save for the occasional shuffle of boots and the steady hum of the sigils embedded into the chamber's walls behind the bookshelves.
Mara sat cross-legged on the raised platform near the edge of the sparring circle, one hand propping up her chin, the other twirling a worn hex-bit between her fingers. She did not blink during the sparring.
She could not, since she was the one analyzing their movements to make some improvements in their gear.
Below her, Diego staggered back to his feet with a grunt, his shirt clinging to him, soaked through with sweat. His chest heaved. Across from him, Sarissa did not look winded at all.
Calm, composed, blade at the ready. The Archivist stood off to the side, watching them with hollow, unreadable violet-milky eyes, arms tucked neatly behind her back.
