The following morning, Nero woke early. The sun had not yet cleared the horizon, but the sky was already pale with the promise of dawn. He lay still for a moment, listening to the silence of the dormitory.
He rose to his feet, dressed in simple training clothes—a loose shirt, lightweight pants, running shoes—and left the room.
The academy grounds were empty at this hour. The paths were gray with dew, the gardens still, the fountains quiet. He passed the main buildings, the training halls, the dormitories where other cadets still slept. His feet found the trail that led into the back mountains, a narrow path of packed earth and scattered stones that wound through sparse pines and rocky outcrops.
He began to run.
