The infirmary stay was mercifully short, and Grey, unable to bear the inactivity, discharged himself as soon as his injuries were deemed non-life-threatening.
It was dawn. The academy grounds were still draped in a misty, quiet chill.
Grey was seated cross-legged on the wet grass, the morning dew soaking into his bare skin.
His upper body was exposed, revealing the tightly toned muscles he had rigorously developed over the past months, scars and fresh bruises crisscrossed his torso, remnants of the battle with Flint.
His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and slow as he focused, preparing himself for performing his unique astral cultivation technique.
The silence was broken only by the chirping of unseen birds.
He delved into the deep reservoirs of his inner being, grasping the turbulent energies he had barely learned to command.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, a brilliant, intense glow radiating from them.
He rose slowly, his posture demanding attention.
