The Eon hall held the golden light of almost-sunrise. Thin stripes came through the high windows, catching the luminite veins in the stone ribs and turning their colors into something warmer. Between the columns, the same black panels waited in silence.
And standing alone in the center ring, Raizen
Jacket folded on a pillar near the sides. Both twin swords settled low at his back. Breath in his lungs, not his throat. Knees soft but not weak. Hands relaxed to the edge of grip, not past it. He was starting to get used to this whole "Eon" thing.
It was hard, yes. But that wasn't an obstacle.
The more he tried using it, the more sparks he managed to pull out of himself, the easier it was.
He drew the left blade a thumb-width. The steel caught the gold of the hour and turned it warm.
Again, he told himself - and didn't mean harder. He meant better.
