Later that evening
The wind was soft tonight.
Not cold.
Just quiet.
Lucian sat alone outside the dorm, back resting against the training hall wall, a can of some fizzy drink Evelyn left behind in one hand. The moon sat heavy above, silver spilling across the tiles like water.
He didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
Not yet.
Then he heard it.
A dull thud.
Another.
And another.
He looked toward the grove on the edge of the training field.
Another thud.
The trees out there were reinforced—built with mana to take hits from people like them. Still, it didn't sound right. Too sharp. Too tired.
Lucian sighed and blinked out of sight.
When he reappeared, Silas was mid-swing—fist slamming against bark. His knuckles were raw. Blood seeped into his wrist wrap. Mana cracked in the air, faint sparks clinging to his arm. The tree didn't budge.
Lucian watched for a moment.
Then stepped forward and leaned against the opposite side of the trunk.
