The moment Bamba completed his fiftieth lap, he stopped at the center of the arena.
"All right! The first training completed!" he shouted.
Every Vanguard could see it—there wasn't a single drop of sweat on his skin.
His breathing? Unchanged. He looked just as steady as he had when he first walked into the arena.
He turned around slowly and looked at the trail of exhausted bodies scattered across the dome. Some had collapsed outright. Others were on their knees, trying to steady themselves. A few were still gasping mid-run, trying to squeeze in one more lap before accepting the inevitable.
None made it.
Not a single one.
Red collapsed onto all fours just before the thirty-ninth. His arms shook beneath him, and he spat onto the floor, cursing under his breath.
Maria stopped at lap forty, her legs trembling as she leaned against the wall. Her expression was tight, her pride bruised more than her body.
