Three months.
For three months, Jonah had a daily routine. He had never had one before.
Mornings started with the sound of metal hitting metal and the crackle of pure energy. The Academy's most advanced training ground was his new classroom, and his only classmates were Draven and Seraph.
CLANG!
Draven's greatsword crashed against the massive shield Titus had lent him. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through the air, but Draven didn't budge. He was a mountain, solid and immovable.
"Too slow, Saint Jonah!" he grunted, a grin on his face. "My grandmother could've parried that!"
"Your grandmother probably swings a rolling pin," Jonah shot back, ducking a shot from Seraph's rifle. He summoned Nyx in a flash of light. The Glimmer-Wing Striker appeared, its disorienting dust causing Draven to blink for a split second.
It was all the time Jonah needed. He rushed in, tapping Draven's chest lightly with his practice blade. "Point."
