Kyrian remained in his dormitory for the rest of the day. The agitation in the fortress was a distant hum beyond his metal door.
He had no desire to interact, to be observed, or to take part in silent political maneuvers that were surely already unfolding.
Unable to cultivate due to the limit of his eyes and unable to dive into the empty book in his mind to understand it, boredom settled in.
He sat on his wooden bed and, for an absurd amount of time, counted the black bricks on the wall of his room. One hundred and twenty-four. All identical, with red veins pulsing like dormant arteries.
He didn't worry. He simply waited. The tournament was the next step. Everything else was just noise.
Night soon came, deeper and quieter than usual. As if everyone in the fortress were conserving energy for the day ahead.
Kyrian slept, a light, efficient sleep, no fleeting dreams, just falling asleep and waking up.
