The training yards sprawled wide under the high sun, dust swirling around straw dummies and wooden walls scattered across the fields.
A sprawling obstacle course stretched out, ropes dangled over pits, nets hung between posts, and spiked barriers jutted up from the dirt, sharp and uneven.
The air baked dry, sharp with sweat and earth after two days of training.
On this third day, the 24 mages gathered at the edge, some stretching, others gripping swords or wiping brows.
Gon stood among them, holding the plain sword he'd used earlier, light, balanced, but not his.
He turned it over in his hand, feeling the grip, then tossed it aside onto a pile of gear with a dull clank.
His own sword, sheathed at his hip, felt better, familiar, worn in.
He drew it, the weight settling right, and sized up the course ahead.
The training master stepped forward, his scarred face hard, voice barking over the wind.
