Laughter and chatter mingled with the occasional clang of weapon checks, and the smell of morning grass mixed with the faint tang of freshly polished metal. The energy of anticipation hung thick in the air, almost palpable, as if the field itself was vibrating with excitement.
Wuxie yawned, stretching lazily across the corner of the dormitory room, his black hair tousled in every direction from sleep. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, painting patterns across the floor and glinting off the faint red glow of the DreadBlade resting on its sheath by his side.
Minjun and Dan were already up. Minjun fussed with his sash, pulling and twisting it with exaggerated care, his movements precise and deliberate, as if preparing for some ceremonial duel. Dan, on the other hand, was crouched on the floor, polishing arrowheads one by one, muttering complaints under his breath about the early hour and the chill in the air that made his fingers stiff.
