Noel's mornings had a rhythm.
Up before most of the academy.
He didn't eat breakfast, didn't get distracted, just went straight to do his routine.
Same old routine
The training yard behind the east wing was always quiet at dawn—just how he liked it. The wind carried a faint chill, sharp enough to keep the mind alert. The grass was slick with dew, and the wooden training dummies lined the wall like silent observers.
Today, he trained without his sword.
Instead, he stood in front of one of the battered targets, his coat folded neatly on the bench behind him. His breath was calm. His right hand extended.
Mana gathered across his knuckles, slow and steady.
A new spell launched.
"Glacialis."
A spike of jagged ice shot forward, sharp and clean, piercing through the straw torso of the dummy and pinning a splintered piece of wood to the wall behind it.
The air hissed with cold.
He exhaled once. Focused.
Raised his hand again.
"Glacialis."
