We've been shown how not to live by gracious kings of old
Unused to the heat of the world outside of Halo, Noah is training in little clothing. His feet, chest, arms, and back are bare. Covering his legs and waist are thin, breathable shorts he had purchased his first time in Torchline, staying put with a tight belt.
After meeting with the Order, Safrin, and the demigods, Noah had spent nearly the rest of his days since in this place. He was a familiar face among the soldiers now, and he took time to learn from those more seasoned than him and to teach those younger than him. Even the dragons flying overhead and blasting elements around him no longer phased him. He was a focused, stone-cold machine each time his feet stepped into the training grounds.
Now he was honing more spear work, something he hadn't done since he was in Halo. He found himself in a trio of dragoons, all working and sparing together with their spears. The game was simple and easy: anyone to come unbalanced lost.
NOAH
