The training field at Arven Academy teemed with voices, steel, and heavy breathing.
Training swords clashed with dry cracks, spears slashed through the air, and instructors shouted orders that echoed through the stone bleachers. It was the rookies' day—clumsy, anxious, full of energy and mistakes—exactly as Damon remembered being… or pretending to be.
He sat on the highest steps, away from the direct noise, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze lost in the organized chaos below.
A boy stumbled while attempting a spin.
Another nearly hit his own teammate.
Damon sighed.
"…it's going to be a complicated night."
The sentence came out low, almost swallowed by the wind, more to himself than to anyone else. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, feeling that strange weariness that didn't come from his body—it came from his mind. Too much planning. Too many secrets. A full moon lurking. — Complicated why?
The voice came from beside him, soft and sharp at the same time.
