The last day of the assessment dawned grey and cold, the sky pressed low over the lake like a bruise that would not heal. Snow fell in heavy flakes, melting on contact with the torches and freezing on the stone seats, turning the ancient arena into a landscape of ice and shadow.
Kaelen woke before dawn with Sprite curled against his neck and the bond already humming. He dressed in the dark, pulled on his boots, and walked to the assessment grounds alone.
Aldric was already there, standing at the edge of the field with his sword drawn, practicing forms in the falling snow. His breath fogged, his blade flashed, and his feet moved in patterns that spoke of years of training. He did not acknowledge Kaelen's approach, but he did not tell him to leave either.
They stood in silence, two brothers in the snow, the lake grey and the ice cracked and something hungry waiting beneath.
A runner came from the palace as the sun rose.
Another report.
Another disaster.
