The next morning arrived far too peacefully for Raiden's liking.
The sun peeked lazily over the walls of the Goldheart estate, the air was crisp and calm.
Worst of it all? There was no training scheduled for Raiden which was surprisingly confusing for the young boy.
Sir Leonard had looked Raiden squarely in the eye after Miss Hilda's treatment the previous evening and said, in his usual, terrifying calm tone. "You will rest tomorrow, young master. That's an order."
An order. Not a request. One from his teacher nonetheless.
Raiden had tried to protest, of course — but the man had walked away before he could even form a sentence.
Now, sitting at the breakfast table with his family, Raiden poked absently at his plate.
No running laps. No sparring. No dramatic defeats or small victories. Just… rest.
