"Aye. They are of my own creation. 'twould be ill-fitting not to name them." Hector sweeps his hand across his brow, the back of his glove glistening with sweat. Were he facing off against someone like Isaac, he would seize the opportunity to shift the fight to his favor, but now, as polite a host as he's ever been, he merely turns a soft eye on his guestsparring partner. "Do you tire, Firo?"