The training ground lay quiet beneath the open night sky, its earlier chaos now reduced to scorched stone, broken wooden dummies, and faint traces of mana lingering in the air like a bitter aftertaste.
The moons hung low above the arena, pale and distant, observing without judgment as Sage stood alone at the edge of the field, his breathing slow and measured. The heat had already faded from his palms; that more than anything else signaled that his training was truly over.
He had traced circles until his fingers ached, recited incantations until his tongue felt numb, and forced his mana through channels so narrow and precise that any lapse in focus could have led to collapse instead of power.
Yet physically, he felt… fine. No trembling limbs or burning muscles. No ragged exhaustion like what the Knights experienced after hours of sparring.
