The training hall felt wider than the arena, like a lung after a long run. The ceiling tracked light in thin lines. Racks held practice weapons in tidy rows, and the floor wore a web of old chalk where teachers had drawn circles and then told students to ignore them and trust their feet. Somewhere a clock ticked like a metronome learning a new song.
Kori stood by the door with her hands behind her back. She was composed, the way a lake pretends the wind is a rumor. When the door at the far end opened, her composure glanced sideways and then pretended it had not.
Kenzo walked in smiling like the room belonged to his good mood. Fifth Phalanx, if you already knew him. Long black hair drawn back with a strip of leather. Broad enough that the doorway looked narrow for a blink. He carried a hammer on his shoulder that would have made a cart groan, rectangular head the size of a small barrel, face scored with luminite lines that woke and dimmed like breathing.
