Kunoichi who fought from shadow and smoke. Onmyoji who folded their spells out of paper talismans. Sword saints whose schools had been cutting for centuries before mana ever arrived to empower them. The spear-user at the rack line had been one glimpse of a whole national arsenal.
Kaiden climbed the platform without notes. The parade ground went quiet at two different speeds: Eclipse in a ragged wave of shushing, the Circle as one.
He had considered easing his people in with a week of joint drills. Looking at the yard now, he shelved the idea for good. What they needed was the leash taken off.
"Good morning," he said, and the joint feed carried it into every living room on the islands. "I'll keep the theory short, because everyone standing on this yard already knows it."
He hooked a thumb at the burning map behind him.
