The private training arena was vast, hollow, and washed in the cool, filtered light of mid-morning. Since the rest of the student body was locked away in lecture halls until after lunch, the echoing expanse of sand, rubber mats, and heavy iron weapons racks belonged entirely to us.
What a joy. Not.
Ryan shed his leather jacket, tossing it over a wooden bench, before rolling up his sleeves to reveal his thick, veiny forearms. He stepped onto the central mat, turning to face me with his hands casually resting on his hips.
"Alright, goblin," he said, his voice dropping into its familiar, authoritative bark. "Drop your bag. We’re starting from scratch."
I unshouldered my pack, stepping onto the mat in my loose training clothes. My limbs were still warm from the frantic sprint across campus
