The sun had climbed higher, flooding the training field with pale golden light. One by one, students began to arrive — elves, humans, beastkin — all dressed in different shades of the academy's uniform, each holding a weapon that reflected their path.
Trafalgar stood near the edge of the field, Maledicta resting lazily over his shoulder. His gaze swept across the gathering crowd. Most faces were unfamiliar — first-years of which none of them worth remembering.
The atmosphere shifted when Eryndor stepped forward. His presence alone silenced the whispers. The Warlord's broad frame cast a long shadow across the ground, his greatsword resting casually on one shoulder as if it weighed nothing.
"Alright, listen up!" His deep voice boomed through the field. "The best way to learn swordsmanship…" He smirked, swinging the blade down until its tip buried itself in the ground with a heavy thud. "…is through experience."
A wave of energy rippled outward from the impact, stirring the dust.
