The sky over the capital was clear for once. Pale blue, without ash, without smoke. A rare peace.
Inside the modest manor granted to them in the Lower East District, Sarah moved quickly—checking bags, folding spare clothes, muttering to herself.
"Amelia, your boots. Noah, stop adjusting that belt or you'll strangle yourself."
"Yes, Mom," both replied, nearly in sync.
Akihiro sat at the edge of the window, already dressed. He wore a plain black tunic beneath a light overcoat, fitted and discreet. No colors. No symbols.
A week of training with Old Man Tom had left his body sore, but sharper. The old man's techniques were brutal and entirely effective.
"If you can dodge a spirit strike blindfolded, you can survive your first month," Tom had said while nearly breaking Akihiro's ribs.
"will i even survive a magic fight with just a sword" he thought
Akihiro had learned to fight not with raw power but with presence. With timing. With precision.
