Percival descended the stairs of the inn, the heavy oak floorboards creaking beneath his boots.
He found the burly, scarred innkeeper wiping down the counter with a rag.
"Down already?" Butrick asked. "The room wasn't to your liking?"
"I need a space," Percival said flatly. "Somewhere open. Somewhere the stone can take a beating."
Butrick grinned. "You want to train, eh? Darn Awakeners. We'll go out the northern fence, past the treeline. There's an old, dried-up quarry the miners abandoned a decade ago when the veins ran dry. Have fun."
"Thank you."
Percival stepped out. As he walked the dirt paths of the village, he could feel the eyes of the locals again, tracking him.
Percival ignored them, keeping his pace steady until the village fell behind him and the craggy, gray walls of the abandoned quarry rose into view.
It was a massive crater of blasted rock, perfectly isolated.
