The line moved slowly forward, like a lazy river trying to find the sea. Inside the large circular hall, guards controlled the flow, registering names, handing out registration medallions, and expelling the most excitable.
Strax and Samira stood in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by warriors of all ages. The air smelled of leather, iron, and sweat. Conversations drifted through the space in a constant hum, punctuated by the metallic clink of weapons each candidate displayed like trophies.
Samira, though seemingly relaxed, had that predatory glint in her amber eyes. She enjoyed observing the others: their posture, the way they held their weapons, the way they breathed. To her, every detail revealed a weakness.
