The training grounds had finally settled into something resembling peace. Raphael and Marco lay sprawled in the dirt, too exhausted to keep punching each other. Jaime had moved on to meditation, which for him meant sitting cross-legged and flexing individual muscle groups while whispering motivational quotes. Juan remained unconscious on his folding chair, having somehow slept through the entire afternoon's chaos.
I stood at the edge of the field, watching my guild recover from another day of controlled violence. My ribs still ached from the Necropolis. Probably always would, in that phantom way that reminded you how close you'd come to dying. The regenerator brace was gone now, but the memory of that tendril punching through my chest lingered like a bad hangover.
Carmen had already retreated to wherever Carmen went when she wasn't making our lives miserable. Braxton had vanished too, probably to lose more money on horse races or whatever degenerate hobby consumed his free time.
