Coren slept lightly.
Not because of fear—because of habit.
The Academy settled into its night rhythms around him: distant footsteps on stone, a murmur of voices carried by corridors, the faint crackle of ward-lanterns cycling power. He lay still on his cot, eyes closed, breath slow, cataloging every sound without reacting to any of them.
Valenna remained awake with him.
They will watch you tomorrow, she said. Closely. Feldren will not be alone.
"They never are," Coren thought back.
He rose before dawn.
No bells. No summons. Just the quiet certainty that if he waited to be called, he would already be late.
The training yard was empty when he arrived, dew clinging to the grass like a thin frost. Coren moved through warm-up drills without armor, blade bare in his hands. Slow cuts. Controlled pivots. Every motion deliberate, restrained. He kept his aura buried deep—present, but muted to a dull pressure that wouldn't carry beyond arm's reach.
This wasn't about growing stronger.
