In the pale light of early dawn, a subdued hush settled over the White Lion fortress. Klaus found himself walking through the central corridors, the soles of his boots clicking against the stone floor. Another day, another round of training. Yet he sensed a shift in the air—a feeling that not only Team 55 but the entire fortress was stirring with renewed fervor. Whispers the previous evening hinted that various squads were testing each other more aggressively, vying for rank adjustments. The competitive spirit of White Lion never slept, but it seemed to have caught a second wind.
As Klaus neared the smaller courtyard Team 55 often used, he noticed the broad-shouldered swordsman—whose name he'd finally learned was Juron—waiting, arms folded. Juron caught sight of Klaus and nodded. His posture was more relaxed than it had been days ago, and the guarded look in his eyes had softened into something resembling respect.
