We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Noah tightened the leather straps on his boots, methodical fingers tugging them into place with the same patience he gave to setting traps in the field. The barracks were quiet this early—just the creak of wood, the whisper of cloth against steel. Frost hung in shafts of dawn light, white-gold and indifferent. He exhaled through his nose, slow, steady, and rolled his shoulders to loosen the knots that always settled before a fight.
Across the room, practice blades rested on the rack, dulled at the edge but still heavy with intent. Dummies that Deimos and others crafted for target practice scattered around the barracks training field. Noah watched as some soldiers came in for their morning sessions, moving dummies and grabbing weapons or stretching magic from their fingertips. He closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. He chose not to grab ay any weapons, leaving his own behind as well, and let his magic settle into the depth of his soul. He wanted to trading hand-to-hand today.
Then he stepped onto the mat, ready to begin, waiting for an opponent.
Across the room, practice blades rested on the rack, dulled at the edge but still heavy with intent. Dummies that Deimos and others crafted for target practice scattered around the barracks training field. Noah watched as some soldiers came in for their morning sessions, moving dummies and grabbing weapons or stretching magic from their fingertips. He closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. He chose not to grab ay any weapons, leaving his own behind as well, and let his magic settle into the depth of his soul. He wanted to trading hand-to-hand today.
Then he stepped onto the mat, ready to begin, waiting for an opponent.
NOAH
