When dawn broke, the yolk of the sun spills into the horizon.
Torn from bed yet again because of a special summoning from a member of the Ecclesia. Malois. It seems I am the only one out of unison; the Herems are all consistent in an identical uniform. A brown, peaked lapel jacket, long-sleeved and fitted with baggy pants and flat black shoes that expose the skin on the face of their feet.
The Herems and I are taken to an interior courtyard but to be more specific, a training yard. The size and shape of a miniature coliseum, divided into sections with different training equipment and contraptions. A grey-stone pavilion surrounds the round border with an exclusive audience of Malois himself on the opposite side, flanked by guards and two servants that carry delicacies. The one unfortunate soul feeds him with it from hand to mouth.
