Instructor Varra didn't shift her tone. She wasn't there to hype them up or crush them down—just to deliver reality as it was, plain and cold.
Her eyes moved across the gathered students, most of whom were still waking up in some form or another—blinking hard against the crisp morning air, adjusting their breathing, trying to stand tall even though their bodies hadn't quite caught up with their ambition.
A few straightened their spines too much, faking alertness. Others looked like they regretted getting out of bed altogether.
"No one here is special. Not yet," she said, her voice low but carrying. "That part comes later.
For now, you learn how to keep your feet, take a hit, and shut your mouth when someone meaner walks in."
The way she said it didn't carry cruelty or challenge. It just sounded like a fact—something they would all learn soon enough, whether they believed it now or not.
