There was no dawn in the Obsidian Sanctum. No morning sun filtered through the stained glass, no chirping birds to signal the start of anything. The Sanctum existed outside the natural rhythm of day and night. Light came in pulses, drifting from bioluminescent veins in the stone walls, or from lanterns that flared to life when someone walked by. Time bent here. Folded. Forgot itself.
So when Luna stood, cleared her throat, and clapped once—loud and sharp—it was not to say "It's morning," but rather, "Time begins now."
"Up, you degenerates. No more excuses. Training starts," she said, voice bright with cruel cheer. "And no, I don't care if your concept of breakfast involves sangria or if your toddler decided to astral-project herself into the attic. We're doing this now."
Kai groaned from the floor where he had passed out face-first into a beanbag. "I was dreaming about cookies…"
"Too bad," Luna said sweetly. "Dreams are for the untrained."
