Mist curled along the jagged edges of the Greyward Maze, coiling like the breath of something ancient. Towering stone walls, etched with the wear of centuries, stood like titans frozen in place. The grey sky loomed above, casting a somber pallor over the staging grounds. A hundred initiates stood in formation, clad in dark robes trimmed with the sigils of their aura classes, swords and staves and relics gleaming under the dull light.
Thalen adjusted the straps on his gear, his legendary-class training sword resting across his back. It hadn't glowed since the vision atop the Spire, but he could still feel it breathing beneath his skin. A low thrum, like a heartbeat not entirely his own.
Dain stood beside him, rolling his shoulders. "Think they'll toss a drake at us this time?"
"No," Thalen said quietly. "Worse."
"You say that every time."
