Raizen woke to a soft hum in the walls and the slow warmth of sunlight on his face. He blinked until the ceiling stopped spinning. The ceiling lights were dim, but the window wasn't. It filled the right side of his vision with clean silver light.
His bed was new to this corner. You could tell by the scuff marks across the floor tiles where someone had dragged metal and stubborn wheels. The head of the bed angled toward the glass. Beyond it, the training yard sat like a map - neat lanes, chalk rings, a row of wooden dummies leaning like tired soldiers. A couple of trainees jogged slow laps, their shadows long and thin.
He smiled without meaning to.
He eased upright. Soreness answered from everywhere. Bandages rasped against fabric. When he tried to pull the blanket higher, his ribs reminded him that blowing up a mountain by force has a price. He let the breath out slow. The room steadied.
