The afternoon sun hammered down on the outdoor training grounds behind Onyx House. I'm talking the kind of heat that makes you question your life choices, the kind that turns sweat into a second skin.
The space was a disaster. An obstacle course with paint peeling off like old scabs. A sparring arena where the boundary lines had faded so much you could barely tell where safe ended and "you're gonna get your face rearranged" began.
The weightlifting area? Half those machines looked ready to snap and send someone to the infirmary. Rusted hurdles lay scattered around like forgotten toys. A few training dummies hung there all tattered and pathetic. Someone had punched straight through the climbing wall at some point. Probably thought they were hot shit.
The whole setup screamed afterthought. This was what the academy thought of us. The rejects got the reject equipment. Made sense in a twisted way.
