The palace corridors stretched endlessly before Gon, a labyrinth of polished marble and flickering torchlight that seemed to mock his every step.
The day had worn him thin, three relentless days of proving himself among the mages, dodging barbs and sizing up threats, and now the weight of it all clung to him like damp cloth.
He'd escaped the common hall's clamor, where Milo was no doubt holding court with his easy grin and booming laugh, surrounded by mages swapping tales of their triumphs.
Gon didn't have the stomach for it tonight.
Not when his mind churned, replaying every move, every misstep, every glance that sized him up as either predator or prey.
His boots struck the floor with a steady, hollow rhythm, echoing off walls adorned with tapestries older than his lineage.
The air here was cooler than the training yards, laced with the faint scent of wax and dust, but it did little to soothe the restlessness gnawing at his chest.
