The Citadel breathed differently now.
It wasn't louder. Not faster. But aware. Like a beast no longer asleep, sensing a shift in its own bones. In its environment.
Leon stood at the southern yard where the oldest walls remained—walls that hadn't been rebuilt since the first flames of war. They were blackened, rough, whispering of wars older than any name still taught in the courtyards. Marien stood nearby, arms folded, watching the fresh recruits spar under the eye of two instructors who'd both once worn the title of Warborn.
They were testing the revised rite again today.
There were no illusions. No memory seals. Just truth, movement, and reaction.
Leon stepped forward as the fifth cadet broke his stance, he was too rigid, too eager. He didn't scold him. He simply adjusted. A hand on the shoulder. A small tilt of the heel.
"Too much force," Leon said. "You're not trying to dominate the enemy. You're trying to understand them and how they'll move."
