The torches on the walls did not burn normally.
Each flame bent and rose in a quiet rhythm, almost perfectly matched to the rise and fall of Torrin's breathing. When he inhaled, the fire stretched taller. When he exhaled, the flames lowered slightly, as if the whole room was breathing with him.
After a few breaths, Gabriel noticed it, and he was quite impressed because the control was impeccable.
A faint crackling sound filled the dojo, small but steady, like dry wood heating past its limit. Even the air entering Gabriel's lungs felt thinner here, and each breath left his chest a little warmer than the last.
He kept his shoulders loose and his grip easy despite that. Rushing a man like Torrin without first understanding the ground beneath him would be stupidity, and he had not survived this long by charging blindly.
