The moment Asher pushed open the door, a barrage of metallic clangs erupted through the air, crashing into his eardrums in successive waves, each one sharper than the last. It was as though the room itself breathed steel. Figures moved rapidly across the vast chamber, weapons flashing in sweeping arcs that blurred together.
But in Asher's eyes, and more importantly, in his sharpened senses, every one of those figures moved at the pace of drifting snails. Their motions, which to ordinary unawakened people would have been a chaotic storm of speed, appeared to him almost laughably slow.
Asher was not surprised by the sight before him; this was the next training ground on their progression path. The weapons training ground.
