"The best traps don't feel like traps. They feel like luck finally going your way."
***
I had been watching Rhys Blackwood for three full days now. Mapping every detail of his routine.
His life played out with the rigid discipline of someone who had learned early that survival required structure. That success demanded sacrifice.
Every morning, he rose before dawn to train alone in the eastern yard before other students had even left their beds. I watched him from this window in the grey light before sunrise. His spear cut patterns through the mist with the dedication of a man who understood that every moment not spent improving was a moment wasted.
He pushed himself to exhaustion and then pushed further. His body trembled with strain but his form never broke.
