Dawn came slowly to Tempest Hold, the rising sun casting molten gold across the horizon. The towering stone bastions stirred with life as squadrons of initiates began their daily drills. Clashes of wood against wood rang out, mixed with sharp commands and the occasional aura burst as trainees practiced basic techniques.
Thalen stood at the edge of the observation deck, arms folded over the railing. Below him, hundreds of hopefuls trained some as young as twelve, others well into their twenties. All of them bore the same desire he once did: to grow strong enough to protect, to rise above their limits, to survive.
Yet none of them had seen what he had. None of them had faced a vision of Vael Seros in a dream or awoken to a sword flickering with Tyrant Spirit embers. None of them knew just how close death truly loomed.
He turned as Dain approached, two trays in hand.
"Brought you breakfast," Dain said. "Again."
Thalen took the tray with a chuckle. "You're going to make me soft."
