Maximus stood alone near the training grounds, rolling his shoulders and scanning the camp with a steady gaze. The morning air was sharp, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth, and the usual camp chatter was a soft murmur in the distance. He adjusted his grip on his sword, feeling the familiar weight in his hand, and breathed in the calm before the day’s chaos began.

A flicker of movement caught his eye—a few new campers, wide-eyed and uncertain, watching from a distance. He gave them a quick nod, his amber eyes glinting under the sun as if hinting at both challenge and reassurance. They looked away quickly, and a faint, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Maximus set his jaw, his stance firm as he turned his focus back to the practice dummies lined up before him. With a swift, precise strike, he cut through the air, each movement as controlled as it was powerful. This wasn’t just training for him—it was instinct, a fire he’d been born with and learned to master. And here, on the edge of the battlefield and the start of the day, he felt more than ready for whatever came next.