Normally, this hour belonged to the grind — drills, push-ups, sweat before sunrise.
But today, he'd been warned.
No heavy training.
No extra sets.
Workload management, the staff called it. Protecting the body before battle.
So instead, he laced up his shoes and stepped out into the dawn.
The air was cool, tinged with salt and dew. Emden still slept — streets empty, windows glowing faintly as morning crept over the rooftops.
Julian started a light jog — no more than five kilometers, a rhythm meant to loosen, not strain.
Each step tapped softly against cobblestones slick from the night mist.
He passed narrow canals, their waters still and mirror-like. A distant gull cried, cutting through the quiet.
Shutters creaked open, fishermen stirred awake, and the smell of baked bread drifted from a nearby café.
This wasn't training. It was centering — the calm before the storm.
Julian breathed deep, eyes lifting to the gray horizon.
"...You running too?"
