The subtle challenge hung in the air like smoke.
Sebathine's glare did not waver. His body, broad and carved by years of war, stood in rigid stillness, yet there was a dangerous promise in that stillness. The air itself seemed to thicken around him, as though the walls of the training hall were bracing for an inevitable collision.
Lucian tilted his head slightly, his gaze unhurried. He looked at Sebathine the way one might study a painting—measuring, assessing, and quietly amused. His lips curved, not into a smile, but something softer, more dangerous.
Behind them, the young recruits kept silent. Their armor gleamed, their grips tightened nervously around the wooden practice swords in their hands. They had come here expecting drills, commands, sweat—and instead they were now watching the kingdom's most feared general and the newly inducted royal tutor circle each other like predators
None dared speak, but their silence was thick with awe and fear.
