I'd arrived at the Kael fortress three days before Azryth showed up.
Three days of training in a place that felt like it had been waiting for me specifically, and three days of trying to teach a small black furball that it couldn't do whatever it wanted.
The fortress was old. Not old like "built a century ago," old like "carved into volcanic rock by wardens who understood that some things needed to last." The wards hummed with power that felt familiar in ways I couldn't quite explain, like recognizing a language I'd never learned but somehow understood.
There were training rooms. Actual dedicated spaces designed for wardens to practice with their abilities without worrying about accidentally destroying things or alerting every demon within a hundred miles.
The wards adapted to what I was doing, it responded to my warden energy like they'd been calibrated for Kael bloodline signatures specifically.
