The Shadows' training hall sat deep beneath the palace, insulated from both weather and rumor. Stone walls drank sound. Ether wards hummed low and constant, a pressure more than a noise, calibrated to allow power without letting it spill. The floor bore the scars of repetition, scored lines, impact fractures, and the faint shimmer where ether had burned and been sealed again.
Gregoris Frasner moved through it like it belonged to him.
Charles von Jaunez did not.
Not yet.
"Again," Gregoris said, calm and unyielding.
Charles wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist and reset his stance. Dark hair clung to his temples; his blue eyes were sharp with irritation and concentration in equal measure. He moved well, better than most who arrived here under coercion rather than ambition. Ether flared briefly around his hands as he shifted weight, then vanished as he chose the blade instead.
Good instincts. Still undisciplined.
