Adam rushed to the training grounds, his lips pressed into a tight, distorted line. His eyes darted across the students.
Most of the training equipment lay untouched on the beaten ground. Instead, most gathered by the armored dummies, spells reflecting off the thick plates and painting the snow in beautiful hues.
Adam felt the pulse of mana radiating from them each time they waved their wands, heard the eagerness in their voices when they congratulated each other and asked which spell they should try next.
Background noises! Only Quintella mattered.
Hissing a cloud of steam, he glared past them. There! Behind the last dummy of the row, Quintella hammered the plates with her bare hands. Nascent grace pursued her stiff footwork, while her punches, although weak, produced satisfactory clangs. Three months. She hadn't slacked...
If she were the Quintella he knew.
