The Osborn compound was gradually illuminated by morning. As the first sounds of training started to reverberate through the inner courtyard, a pale light spread across the tiled roofs and stone walkways. Wooden weapons made steady rhythmic strikes against one another. The clan's younger members had already assembled in the practice yard, going through exercises that had become standard over the previous few months.
Robert stood near the edge of the courtyard watching them. He had been awake long before the sun rose. The compound felt different these days. More people moved through the paths with purpose. The air carried a quiet sense of growth.
Behind him, footsteps approached across the stone floor. His father, John Osborn, entered the courtyard wearing a simple training robe. His presence remained calm as always, but the surrounding strength was unmistakable.
Robert turned slightly. I am preparing the first organised hunt for the younger members.
