The private sparring garden was a tiered terrace of white marble carved into the side of the ridge. It was open to the sky, and the cold mountain air felt sharp against Vane's skin after the stifling atmosphere of the dining hall. There were no plants here. Instead, the ground was covered in a fine layer of gray volcanic ash that shifted with every breath of wind.
Alistair Sol stood in the center of the terrace. He had changed out of his formal wear and now wore a simple black tunic. He was just standing there, looking out at the darkened valley, but the air around him was distorted. It was a localized pocket of heat that made the falling snowflakes vaporize before they could hit the ground.
Valerica stopped at the edge of the ash. Her violet hair was pulled back into a tight braid, her eyes reflecting the dim glow of the mana sconces. "You wanted to see us, Father."
