The next day, Azrael's leather boots clicked against the polished stone as he made his way toward the expansive training grounds of the palace. The late afternoon sun painted the sky with hues of orange and gold. Sevastian trailed closely behind, his usual composed demeanor unshaken.
As they approached the gates leading to the training area, the familiar sounds of clashing steel and shouts filled the air. Soldiers lined the grounds, locked in rigorous sparring sessions or practicing coordinated maneuvers under the watchful eyes of their trainers. The earthy smell of sweat and trampled grass was strong, a testament to the intense drills taking place.
