Sparring with Hendrik had become a daily occurrence once they'd settled into the farm. Even armed with dual blades, Eleven had discovered without fail that he was no match for his protector. His size and strength alone pitted him at a significant disadvantage, and while he was certainly faster and more nimble than the man, neither was he Erik. Erik, he was sure, would be able to get in close and spin quickly enough to have a chance at his back. Eleven had tried the maneuver he imagined his best friend would use several times over, but Hendrik's defense was impeccable.

Rather than successfully circle him, Eleven found both swords crossed just under the sharp edge of Hendrik's axe, gritting his teeth through the weight bore down on him through one strong arm until finally, his knees buckled. Eleven dropped with a hard breath, blades held loosely in hands that trembled from the strain of effort.

"Goddess," he breathed, shaking his head. Well enough they often chose to practice in the waning hours of the day as these spars always managed to push him to his limit. His spars with Archeval in the mornings served as light exercise in comparison. "I swear I will best you at some point."