Sword Resonance…
A name that sounds simple—yet carries the weight of blood, will, and generations of failure. It wasn't just a technique. Not to those who understood it. It was alignment. A phenomenon that occurred when the blade, the body, and the soul moved as one—no, became one.
Lucavion's eyes followed the shimmer of Rowen's blade, the low hum still vibrating faintly in the air between them like a heartbeat only trained swordsmen could hear. Resonance wasn't something one learned. It wasn't something one unlocked through effort alone.
He'd known about it long before this match. Not through scrolls. Not through noble tradition. But through a conversation buried in memory—etched into him on the blood-soaked frontlines of a war no noble ever remembered.
Gerald had spoken of it once.
"Sword Resonance," his master had murmured, hands stained with the grime of a battlefield.
