~Ciela
The training room smelled faintly of metal, chalk, and effort. My breath fogged faintly in the cold air each time I exhaled. It was a Saturday, which meant the place was almost empty — no shouts, no thuds of sparring pairs. Just the echo of my own movements and the low hum of the lighting.
I lifted my hand, palm out. The barbell on the rack trembled, then lifted cleanly into the air, plates rattling against each other. My system’s pulse synced with my heartbeat — steady, sharp. The bar floated above me, gleaming faintly under the ceiling lights. I tightened my focus, beads of sweat sliding down my temple.
“Steady,” I murmured to myself.
I rotated my wrist slightly. The bar tilted, balanced at an impossible angle, before dropping down toward the floor. I caught it with my mind an
