The reinforced chamber was still, the thick stone swallowing echoes until even the air felt heavy. Frost lingered across parts of the floor from Noel's earlier training, thin and uneven, already fading. The mana arrays embedded in the walls pulsed faintly, steady and distant.
Noel sat on the ground with his back against the wall, one knee raised, the other leg stretched out. The tension from training had left his body, replaced by a quieter focus. A few meters away, Noir lay on the stone, head resting on his paws. His dark fur shimmered faintly with purple undertones whenever mana shifted nearby.
They were waiting for Daemar.
Noel had time.
The old leather journal rested in his hands. Worn, but carefully maintained. He opened it to the first page.
The handwriting was younger there. Slightly uneven.
Nicolas. Age eighteen.
The day he arrived at Adept.
Noel read in silence.
