Morning light seeped slowly into Daniel’s room, warming the wooden floor and brushing across the open scroll of the Primordial Dragoon Fist. The soft glow made the faded ink look almost new, as if the technique itself was waking up again after being forgotten for years. Daniel rubbed his eyes and sat up, stretching out the stiffness that clung to his limbs from the previous night’s practice. His body still tingled faintly, not from pain, but from a strange sense of readiness. It felt like something inside his muscles had changed overnight, as if the lightning within him had woven itself deeper into his bones while he slept.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a moment to breathe. The air felt cooler than usual, crisp and refreshing. He exhaled slowly and stood up. His legs
