With only two days left before the leviathan ship would carry them back to Zenith, the end of the winter break hung over the compound. It didn't feel like a fading away; instead, the looming departure sharpened every remaining hour. The compound continued its normal rhythms, but with the quiet, shared acknowledgment that their time here was almost up. Old Shen's cooking reflected it—his portions grew heavier, the meals transforming into the lavish feasts he only prepared when he wanted to leave a lasting warmth in the bones of the people he cared about.
Before the sun had even threatened to rise, Vane stood alone in the outer ring.
The pre-dawn cold was biting, but he didn't feel it. He ran through the eight forms, silencing his mind. No overthinking, no analytical breakdowns. He just let his body move, executing the sequence exactly as it had been drilled into him in the frozen expanse of the northern territory, and exactly as he did it now at home. The flow was seamless.
