The golden square buzzed with a suffocating silence. Every youth felt the weight of those words press into their bones. One by one, they tightened their grips, shoulders straining as they sought to mimic what they had witnessed.
The first disciple—a broad-shouldered youth with a scar down his jaw—thrust forward. His spear whistled, the tip trembling, unstable. The air rippled faintly, but the echo of power quickly broke apart, scattering like loose dust.
"Too shallow," the elder's voice cut, cold and merciless. "You understand the shape but not the heart."
Another stepped forward, her movements elegant, flowing like water. Her spear spun in arcs, graceful as a dancer's ribbon. For a heartbeat the air stirred with promise—then faltered, the current collapsing in on itself.
"Too soft. A dragon's tail cannot strike like a reed."
