The morning sun crept through the fortress' narrow windows, washing the cold stone in a golden hue. Thalen awoke to the scent of steel oil and the faint clang of metal on metal. His muscles still ached from the examination, but something deeper had changed his breath felt heavier, each heartbeat slower but louder, like the Tyrant Spirit inside him moved to a rhythm the world no longer shared.
He rose, dressed in the training uniform left folded at the foot of his bed plain black, high-collared, with a crimson insignia embroidered across the chest: the Mark of Ascent. The insignia was simple, yet unmistakable. It was a sigil of those undergoing training to become potential defenders of the realm. It was also a target.
The door creaked open before he could reach for the handle.
Varos entered, silent as shadow, eyes scanning him from head to toe.
"You slept. Good. Come."
