[Training] [se] these years of infinity

Deimos Deimos was up before the sun rose, customary in his everyday life, and even more so as Longheat pressed its threatening wake over Torchline. His companions followed, Belial bright and alert, floating ahead on breadths of long wings, young and emboldened, unabashed and unafraid. Zuriel walked after the soldier, stepping into the sand with the air of a dignified queen; and he simply immersed himself in the task ahead, targets already built under his arm. They’d yet to fully build up the rest of the guild’s training yard – and while he’d be inclined to do it himself, it’d be no easy feat and would likely take time he didn’t have. So instead, the Sword marched with his sword in hand and the painted effigy of some enemy on the front, before opting for the Miana Pool. By the time they made it over, the bright hues of the rising elements began to gave way - simmering over the sea. It seemed free of any crowds or onlookers for the moment, so he placed the goal in a firmer proportion of the dunes, ensuring it wouldn’t lilt or tilt. From there, he drew his blade, while Zuriel grazed and Belial setting on some outcropping, staring at the fish billowing beneath the waves. They were all accustomed to the exchange – to the sudden slashing of air, to the ferocity coming down upon marks, goals, and aims. To the aspirations flickering with each movement of muscle and mayhem, to the fine-tuned elegance of bloodshed and ruin, to the sway and dance of warfare building like a crescendo over the world. It wasn’t going to stop, so neither was he. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime