Noah drove his fist into the training post for what felt like the thousandth time, watching the impact spread across the wood in a mark roughly the size of a coin. Better than when he'd started, when his strikes left fist-sized dents. Still not good enough. Still not the fingertip precision Valen demanded.
Three weeks in this timeline, and he was no closer to understanding what "Extinguish the Flames" actually meant.
He stepped back, shaking out his hand. The sun was climbing toward midday, heat beginning to build in the training yard where maybe fifty recruits worked at their posts. The sound of impacts filled the air, wood on wood, flesh on wood, magic on wood, a constant rhythm that had become background noise.
