The three moons hung high above the training ground, pale and distant, as if they were watching him rather than illuminating his path.
The stone beneath his feet still held the faint warmth of recently dissipated spells, while the air was tinged with the sharp, metallic aftertaste of mana, faintly intoxicating.
Sage stood motionless at the center of the arena, hands relaxed at his sides, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.
His body wasn't tired. That was part of the problem. There was no burning ache in his muscles, no trembling weakness in his limbs, no desperate need for rest like what Knights experienced after hours of sparring or combat. Physically, he could remain here until dawn without much complaint.
But his mind felt… strained. Not exhausted or empty, stretched. It was as if his thoughts had been pulled taut across an invisible frame, every mental fiber humming with tension.
