The faintest hints of dawn had yet to touch the sky when Lucavion stirred in his bed. The quiet of the inn surrounded him, the soft creak of wood and the occasional whisper of the wind the only sounds breaking the stillness. It was a routine he had built over the years—waking before the sun before the world came alive. It kept him sharp and focused.
He dressed quickly, pulling on his well-worn training gear, and quietly slipped out of his room. The hallway was empty, the inn still cloaked in the deep silence of night. As he descended the stairs, he didn't bother with a light. His steps were sure, his body already accustomed to the darkness.
Outside, the cool pre-dawn air greeted him. The chill bit at his skin, but it was familiar, invigorating. Without a word, Lucavion began his morning run. His breath came out in steady, controlled puffs as he moved through the empty streets, his body falling into the rhythm he knew so well.
