The days after the public training session settled into a strange new rhythm.
Mornings brought solitary drills on the outer fields, where Sasha and I pushed boundaries until my muscles screamed and the air tasted of ozone.
Afternoons involved classes that felt increasingly detached from reality—Belle's empty seat at the front a constant reminder.
Evenings were for friends, scattered meals, and quiet moments wondering how long "a long time" really meant.
Rumors had evolved again: I was now the guy who danced with lightning and summoned celestial tigers.
Kent took full credit for spreading the tiger part.
This particular afternoon found me in the academy library, buried in a stack of tomes on border histories and Ascendant tactics.
The massive hall smelled of old paper and faint mana residue, with floating orbs providing soft light.
Sasha curled on the table beside me, occasionally batting at a loose page.
