The western shoreline of Ondaris was never quiet. It was a realm of perpetual motion and percussive violence, where the Great Sea collided with the continent in a timeless struggle for dominance.
Grey waves rolled endlessly against jagged, obsidian-colored cliffs, crashing in plumes of white spray against stone that had endured centuries of salt-scoured storms. The wind, a biting and relentless force, carried the scent of brine and the chill of the deep across the training terraces. These were not mere balconies; they were wide, flat expanses carved with agonizing precision directly into the coastal rock, tiered like the seats of a titan's amphitheater. Above, the sky hung heavy with shifting, charcoal clouds—neither bright enough to offer hope nor dark enough to signal a storm—but watchful, like a predator lingering just beyond the firelight.
