Instructor Veylan believed mercy was a training accident.
Veylan's drills did not measure strength. They measured what survived after strength failed.
She corrected it early.
The combat hall smelled of oil, iron dust, old sweat, and student fear polished into discipline. Morning light fell through tall windows in clean rectangles, turning the practice floor into a grid of places where bodies could fail visibly. Weapon racks lined the walls. Evaluation crystals hovered above the central ring. Red marks from yesterday's sparring still stained the boards where cleaning spells had decided some lessons deserved memory.
Veylan stood in the center holding a wooden baton and a stack of paper.
The paper was more frightening.
Weapons only hurt once.
Academy records learned how to hurt repeatedly.
"Today," she said, "we test what the Spire failed to clarify."
Several students looked at me.
Subtlety had apparently missed roll call.
