He woke up on the training ground floor.
Not in a dramatic collapsed-hero kind of way. More like he'd sat down to catch his breath at some point during the previous night and his body had made an executive decision without consulting him. His cheek was pressed against the cold stone. His wooden sword was still in his hand. There was a training dummy ten feet away with a cracked torso that absolutely had not been cracked when the day started.
Orion blinked at the ceiling. Or the sky, rather. Still dark. Twin moons both hanging low and lazy, the kind of hour that had no business being anyone's morning.
Everything hurt.
