When Zephyr entered the combat class, it was not empty like the meditation class, though the room's sheer size made it feel like it was. A few students were already scattered across the space, their conversations low, some stretching, others testing their weapons with quiet discipline. Their gazes shifted toward him as he stepped in—some indifferent, others hate—but one lingered longer than the rest.
Lunethra.
Her sharp purple eyes held his for a fraction too long before he adverted his gaze awkwardly.
"Zephyr!" Mr. Fisher's cheerful voice cut through the ambient noise. "You're late, but it's fine—change out of that cloak and into the vest."
Zephyr nodded and slipped away to the changing corner. When he returned, now wearing the sleeveless training vest, Mr. Fisher clapped his hands together and grinned.
"Alright! Let's not waste time. Bed number one and bed number fifteen—you're up."
