The classroom was filled with the hushed anticipation of a new day. A thin veil of sunlight bathed the room, casting a soft glow upon dusty desks and worn-out textbooks. At the front of the class stood Mr. Willow, a gentle soul with skin that resembled the rough bark of a magnificent tree. his presence commanded respect and admiration from her young students.
Sitting attentively in the first row were Agneyastra and Emathion, their eyes sparkling with curiosity. Before long, the classroom door swung open, revealing Aurgelmir walked in accompanied by a young boy, Jake.
Pointing towards an empty seat, Aurgelmir's deep voice filled the room, “Go sit down, be good for your father Acorn. You hear me, Jake?”
Jake nodded solemnly, showing reverence for his father. An embrace was shared, Aurgelmir's presence towering over the boy. “Yes, father Aurgelmir,” Jake murmured respectfully. He settled into the seat beside Emathion, releasing a silent sigh. As Aurgelmir exited the room, his eyes cast a lingering, flirtatious smile towards Mr. Willow, who blushed under his gaze.
In the midst of this unfolding tableau, Agneyastra extended her delicate hand towards Jake, introducing herself. She spoke, “Hello, I am Agneyastra, but most call me Ageny.”
Jake took her hand in his, his grip firm yet gentle. With a knowing smile, he replied, “I am Jake. I already know who you are. My father, Aurgelmir, has told me the tale of how he saved you from demons.”
Their conversation faded into the background as Mr. Willow began his lesson, chalk sliding smoothly across the blackboard. The class turned their attention towards their teacher. As the day progressed within the interconnected corridors of the bustling training building, Agneyastra found herself strolling down the hall. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting long shadows that danced along the polished floors. The air hummed with the excitement and energy of youthful voices echoing off the walls.
Amidst the throng of students, Agneyastra's gaze was drawn to a commotion nearby. Ramil and Sandra, two figures filled with mischief and arrogance, seemed to be engaged in a heated conversation with Jake. Agneyastra with unease as she observed the tension building between them. Suddenly, Ramil's aggression peaked. Without warning, he violently thrust Jake with a force that sent him stumbling backwards. The boy's eyes widened with fear and desperation, desperately trying to escape the clutches of his tormentors. In this ominous moment, Agneyastra's protective instincts surged within her.
Swiftly, she rushed towards Jake, her voice filled with concern, “Jake, are you okay?”
But Jake's response shattered the fragile serenity that once enveloped them. His gaze remained fixated on the ground, avoiding Agneyastra's gaze. With a painful twinge in his voice, he spoke, “I think it would be best if I wasn't your friend.” Agneyastra watched Jake walk away.
Agneyastra's eyes burned with fiery indignation as she fixed her gaze upon Ramil and Sandra, the tormentors of the other children. A ferocious intensity radiated from her as she watched their malicious acts unfold in the crowded hallway. Emathion, ever attentive, quietly approached and positioned himself beside her, matching the fire in her eyes with his own smoldering disapproval.
“You finally see Ramil in his natural environment, jerk mode,” Emathion remarked.
She glanced around, Agneyastra's muscles tensed, aching to spring into action, to put an end to the torment once and for all. But Emathion's gentle hand on her arm halted her, a silent reminder of their father's words echoing in her mind. “Father said you are supposed to blend in,” Emathion reminded her, his grip gentle yet firm.
Her voice quivered with both frustration and determination as she pointed at the heartless duo. “No one else is doing anything about them,” she said, her voice laden with fervor.
Emathion, his eyes flickering with a mix of fear and caution, pleaded with her. “Please, let's go to lunch. Let's not draw attention to ourselves.”
Agneyastra's gaze finally tore away from the harrowing scene with a heavy sigh, she relented. “Fine, let's go to lunch.”
As Agneyastra and Emathion strolled along, lost in their own thoughts, a sudden encounter jolted their peaceful journey. Sandra forcefully shoved Emathion with such intensity that he stumbled and crashed into the unforgiving ground. Sandra advanced with malevolence in her eyes, ready to trample upon Emathion's vulnerability. However, Agneyastra, driven by a resolute sense of justice, sprang into action. With fierce determination, she forcefully pushed Sandra to the floor, preventing her from inflicting any further harm upon Emathion.
In the heat of the moment, Agneyastra turned her attention to Ramil, expecting him to stand up against the abhorrent bullying inflicted upon his own brother. “You do nothing as your brother suffers at the hands of this wicked girl,” she exclaimed.
Ramil, caught off guard, he hesitated. He approached the scene cautiously, stepping over the fallen Sandra, extending a trembling hand towards Agneyastra. In that fragile moment, his faltering gesture as he declares, “Agney, wait.”
As Agneyastra locked eyes with Ramil, a reflective surface caught her attention. Turning slightly, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a glass trophy case standing nearby, as steam started to rise from her black locks. Emathion, sensing the urgency of the situation, tugged gently at Agneyastra's hand, reminding her that their safety took precedence over confronting Ramil. “Agney, we have to go now,” he urged softly.
Agneyastra tore her gaze away from her reflection and took a final look at Ramil. As Emathion gently guides Agneyastra away from the commotion of Ramil, Sandra, and the other children, leading her into a closet. As the door closes, Agneyastra's breathing becomes heavy, her emotions overwhelming her as her hair begins to transform into fiery flames. Tears streaming down her face, she collapses to the floor, her hands clutched tightly to her burning hair. In a choked voice, she whispers, “I am sorry, I failed everyone today.”
Sitting beside her, Emathion offers comfort and reassurance, his voice a soothing balm to Agneyastra's wounded soul. “It's okay,” he assures her, “you didn't fail anyone. Sandra has always been mean, especially when my brother Ramil is around. He has a way of provoking anger in anyone.”
As if responding to Emathion's words, Agneyastra's flaming hair slowly returns to its usual ebony shade. Gathering herself, she and Emathion leave the closet, stepping back into the bustling hallway. Ramil approaches them, his voice sincere as he softly calls out, “Agney.”
Refusing to engage, Agneyastra and Emathion continue on their way, determined not to let Ramil's presence affect them any longer. They head towards the lunchroom, seeking refuge in the familiar surroundings. Meanwhile, Sandra rises from the floor, her eyes filled with contempt as she glares at Ramil's departing figure. Ramil walks away, forcefully pushing past the other children as he makes his way to the stairwell.
***
Afternoon, all the children leave the training building, and Raml waits on the bench. He gazes intently at the crowd of children exiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of his brother Emathion. As he scans the passing faces, Sandra approaches him. Noticing the concern on Raml's face, Sandra asks, “Are you looking for Emathion?
Raml nods and replies, “Yes, have you seen him?”
Before Sandra can respond, Jake walks by without a word. Raml, growing frustrated, decides to ask Jake as he walks away.
“Hey, Jake,” Raml calls out, “do you know where Emathion is?”
Jake, seemingly irritated, turns to face Raml and retorts, “How should I know? Figure it out yourself.” With that, he continues walking.
Raml's disappointment deepens as he watches the last of the children exit the building, and Dean Jost locks the front door. Determined to find his brother, he approaches Dean Jost and voices his concern.
“Dean Jost,” Raml says urgently, “have you seen my brother and Agneyastra?”
Dean Jost ponders for a moment before responding, “I believe they were the first ones out the door today.”
Ramil's footsteps grew heavier and louder as he stormed down the street, anger coursing through his veins. Sandra, sensing his frustration, hurriedly caught up to him, her voice filled with concern “Are you mad at me?” she questioned, her eyes searching his face for any sign of forgiveness.
Ramil's face remained stern as he spoke, not bothering to slow down his pace. “Why did you have to be mean to Agney?” he asked.
Sandra huffed, her stubborn nature shining through. “Why should she be treated better than we treat the others?” she retorted.
Ramil finally halted his steps, turning to face Sandra directly. “She can hurt you,” he warned.
Sandra scoffed, her confidence evident. “I have been training with weapons since before I could walk,” she stated proudly.
Ramil shook his head, a touch of sadness creeping into his eyes. “You've never fought a real opponent,” he revealed, drawing Sandra's attention. “Agney has been trained to kill demons before she could even walk. I wouldn't provoke her. I believe in the future she will have more authority. Just don't make her your enemy.”
Sandra shoved Ramil away in frustration. “Whatever! See you tomorrow,” she snapped, storming off in the opposite direction.
Ramil stood at the edge of the bustling street, he watched as Sandra's figure gradually became smaller and smaller, disappearing into the distance. With a solemn nod, Ramil turned on his heels and made his way back home. The streets were alive with the vibrant energy of the city, yet his footsteps felt heavy. He approached his house and pushed open the door, stepping into the familiar warmth and comfort of his humble abode.
Inside the living room Emathion and Agneyastra were engrossed in a playful game with Sinai. Their laughter filled the room, a soothing melody that underscored the heartfelt joy that radiated in the space. Ramil paused for a moment, silently observing the scene before him. Emathion's curious eyes sparkled with mischief as he chased Sinai around, while Agneyastra, her attention fixated on a glass toy horse, seemed distant, lost in her own thoughts.
Approaching the trio, Ramil spoke softly, his voice filled with a tinge of remorse. “I waited for you, after training,” he uttered, his words reaching Agneyastra, who remained engrossed in her plaything.
Agneyastra, without tearing her gaze away from the glass horse, responded coolly, “I thought you had Sandra to walk you home.”
A pang of guilt hit Ramil like a wave, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his actions. With sincerity in his voice, he expressed his remorse, addressing Agneyastra, “I am sorry for my actions today, Agney.”
Agneyastra's eyes narrowed, her gaze unyielding as she confronted Ramil. Her attention briefly shifted to Sinai and Emathion, still engrossed in their playful endeavors on the floor. With a hint of hurt in her voice, Agneyastra's words came forth like sharpened arrows, piercing the tense atmosphere. “You did nothing to me,” she enunciated each word with a blend of accusation and disappointment, “you allowed that girl to harm your own brother. Family should always be protected.”
Ramil's reply echoed through the room, his voice laced with determination and defiance, “They are my brothers, not yours!”
As Agneyastra felt her eyes welling up with unshed tears, overwhelmed by a torrent of conflicting emotions, she turned abruptly and hurried up the stairs, her footsteps pounding like a heart in distress. Slamming the door behind her.
Ramil, left standing at the foot of the stairs, contemplated following her, his resolve faltering for a moment. Yet his mother's voice, gentle yet firm, beckoned him elsewhere. Pyla's request reached his ears, pulling him away from the tumultuous exchange. “Ramil, come help me prepare dinner now!” her voice called out.
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Drawing a steadying breath, Ramil responded with a sense of dutiful obedience, his accentuated footsteps carrying him across the room. As he approached the kitchen, he glimpsed his mother, her eyes filled with concern, waiting for him.
“Yes, mother,” he replied, his voice reflecting a mixture of obedience and underlying turmoil. He followed her through the dining room and into the kitchen, where the fragrant aromas of their shared domesticity filled the air.
Leaned on the counter, Pyla's words were delivered with a gentle conviction, infusing Ramil's ears with wisdom and guidance. She spoke of his anger, its volatile nature causing her worry. Her advice, tenderly offered, “I worry about your anger,” she began, her voice carrying a mother's weight of concern. “You need to learn how to control it, my son. Seek out a release, a hobby or activity that can combat the flames of your rage. Only then can you truly become a man, when you are a master of your own emotions.”
Ramil's troubled face, casting shadows that mirrored the weight of his inner turmoil. His gaze averted, he confessed to his mother, his voice carrying the heaviness of his admission. “I am sorry, mother,” Ramil murmured, his words barely audible above the crackling fire. “But it feels as though my anger is an untamable, impossible to control.”
Moved by her son's confession, Pyla closed the distance between them and enveloped Ramil in her gentle embrace. Her touch, warm and comforting, carried a silent reassurance.
“You need to find your inner happiness,” Pyla whispered softly, her words like a soothing melody amidst the chaos of Ramil's emotions. “Something that ignites a spark of joy within your heart.”
Ramil's eyes met his mother's gaze, “I promise, mother, that I will do my utmost to seek out that which brings me happiness,” Ramil vowed, his voice filled with determination. “For you, and for myself.”
Pyla's smile was filled with maternal pride, her eyes reflecting an unwavering belief in her son's potential. “No, my son,” she corrected gently, her voice carrying the wisdom of experience. “Find happiness not for me, but for yourself. For within that happiness, you shall discover the strength to tame the untamable within.”
***
The early morning mist hung low in the forest, casting an eerie hue upon the usually vibrant green of the trees. The air was heavy with an ominous stillness, as if the very heart of the forest had been suffocated. Yeongi and Tyson, accompanied by a group of soldiers from the Fire Kingdom, tread carefully, their senses heightened by the unsettling environment.
Suddenly, a weary soldier approached Tyson. “My Prince, all of the Brucie have fallen, just as the trees started to die,” the soldier announced.
As if in response to the devastating revelation, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble violently. A tree, once majestic and full of life, bent and twisted with a haunting creak before crashing down toward Tyson and Yeongi. In that moment, Tyson's instincts kicked in, and he stepped forward to shield his wife and his soldiers.
With a swift motion, Tyson's hair burst into flames, illuminating the darkened forest with a fierce brilliance. The flames danced and flickered, turning the incoming tree into nothing more than a pile of ash before it reached them. As the danger passed, Tyson willed his hair to return to its normal black and red.
Tyson and Yeongi stepped out of the rotting forest, their boots sinking into the soft desert sands. “I need to speak with Emathion,” Tyson declared, his voice resolute.
Yeongi gently tugged at Tyson's arm, her touch radiating warmth and concern. “No, I will go speak with him,” she insisted.
Tyson's love for Yeongi was evident in every word and gesture. He brought his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly. “My sweet wife, as always you risk too much for others,” he murmured.
Turning to face two Fire Kingdom soldiers standing nearby, their imposing figures accentuated by the insignias on their armor, Tyson gave them a firm command. “My soldiers, remove your armor with crest and accompany my wife and the Dweller Warriors to speak with the boy.” The soldiers bowed with utmost respect, swiftly shedding their breastplates to reveal black shirts underneath. Falling in line behind Yeongi and the Dweller Warriors, they prepared to venture on.
The group made their way beneath the desert's surface, descending into the Dweller city. A Dweller Warrior hailed a passing carriage, signaling for it to stop. Yeongi gracefully entered the back, followed closely by the soldiers. The carriage set off, the wheels rolling smoothly over the sandy terrain, never faltering.
The carriage jolted to a stop, causing Yeongi to steady herself as she emerged gracefully, followed by a contingent of soldiers. The dwelling before them exuded an air of enchantment, its wooden façade adorned with intricate carvings that spoke of the artistry within. Yeongi approached the front door with a purposeful stride.
As her delicate knuckles rapped against the weathered wood, the door swung open with a creak, revealing a vision of beauty. Agneyastra stood there, radiant as the morning sun, her emerald eyes shimmering with warmth and curiosity. A smile danced upon her lips, sending a flutter of butterflies through Yeongi's stomach.
“Good morning,” Agneyastra greeted, her voice a delicate melody that seemed to echo in the air.
Yeongi, momentarily taken aback by the ethereal beauty before her, couldn't help but be drawn to Agneyastra's emerald eyes. Slowly, she extended her hand, fingertips brushing against the smooth skin of Agneyastra's cheek. A surge of emotion washed over Yeongi, her voice barely a whisper.
“It's almost like he still lives within your eyes,” Yeongi said, her voice filled with equal parts melancholy and hope.
But before Agneyastra could respond, Marudeva appeared in the doorway, his rugged features furrowed with concern. His gaze shifted between Yeongi and Agneyastra, his voice laden with trepidation.
“Princess Yeongi, why are you here? Is the King dead?” Marudeva asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Yeongi released her gentle touch from Agneyastra's face, a fleeting connection severed too soon. With a deep breath, she stepped past Agneyastra into the house, her voice calm yet resolute as she addressed Marudeva.
“No, Moriko hasn't been seen in weeks,” she uttered, her words piercing through the eerie silence that hung in the air. “The Green Forest is withering away, and the very ground trembles beneath our feet. I must speak with Emathion.”
Marudeva's face contorted. “It is his 14th birthday today,” she declared, determination etched into every line of her face. “I will not allow this darkness to cast its shadow on this day of celebration.”
As if on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the corridors, drawing closer with each passing second. Pyla appeared, guiding Emathion down the stairs, their gazes locking onto the intense scene unfolding before them.
Emathion's youthful voice cut through the tension, weaving innocence, and curiosity into his words. “Princess Yeongi, Moriko spoke of you. Have you brought her for my party?”
Yeongi took a step closer, her eyes locking with Emathion's. “No, my dear Emathion,” she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness. “We must speak with your mother and father privately. There are matters we need to attend to, ones that oblige your urgent attention.”
As Marudeva opened the door to his office, the anticipation filled the room. Pyla followed closely behind, her eyes filled with worry. Emathion and Yeongi, they entered as well, their expressions tense.
Once the door was closed, Yeongi wasted no time and pleaded with Emathion. Her voice held a sense of urgency, “I need you to communicate with Moriko, tell her to come back. The green forest is dying.”
Emathion, standing tall with crossed arms, countered, his tone firm, “Why would I do that? She's happy living with the Earth Kingdom’s people in a realm far from where the Water Kingdom can harm her.”
Yeongi's voice wavered with frustration, “Emathion, this was your idea.”
Admitting his previous suggestion, Emathion replied, “Yes, it was, because she is happy. She's not protected in the Green Forest, the Brucies can only do so much to protect her. I read they can be easily influenced by demons.”
Marudeva, observing the heated exchange, fixed his gaze on Emathion. With a mix of concern and authority, he met his son's eyes and said, “Emathion, you don't understand. Everything she is attached to can die. And you are attached to her.”
But Emathion stood his ground, his resolve unyielding. Looking straight into his father's eyes, he declared, “If she is happy, that is worth it to me.”
Pyla, unable to contain her emotions any longer, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Emathion in a tight embrace. Her voice was filled with desperation as she spoke, “There has to be a member of the Earth Kingdom bloodline within its borders. Moriko can only be apart from the forest for short periods, until she is with her life partner. We will all be destroyed if she remains gone for much longer.”
Reluctantly, Emathion conceded, his voice carrying a hint of frustration, “Fine, I will tell her to return.” He closed his eyes, his mind filled with thoughts of Moriko. And then, with determination, he called out, “Moriko, Moriko.”
In that very moment, Moriko's voice resonated in Emathion's mind. Her words filled with love and concern, she asked, “I missed you, Emathion. Are you okay?”
Emathion, relieved to hear her voice, responded, “I am here with Princess Yeongi. She reports that the Green Forest is dying.”
Moriko's voice trembled with regret, “I didn't realize. I will return right away. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble.”
Emathion tried to reassure her, “You didn't. I just wanted you to be happy. We will talk later.”
Just as the conversation ended, Moriko's voice slipped away, leaving Emathion in silence. He found himself looking around at the concerned faces of Yeongi, his mother, and his father. A heaviness settled into his heart as he realized the consequences of his actions. With a sudden surge of frustration and worry, Emathion rushed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
Yeongi, startled by the sudden change in atmosphere, glanced at Marudeva and Pyla. Trying to lighten the mood, she asked, “Are all your sons that intense?”
Pyla offered a small smile, her voice laced with fondness, “More or less.”
***
Morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting a vibrant kaleidoscope of colors onto the marble floors of the Water Kingdom Palace. Evain, her long hair cascading down her shoulders, moved with purpose down the ornate halls. As she approached a grand door, she rapped on it urgently, her voice echoing through the silent corridors. “Devereaux, we are going to be late for training!” Evain's words carried an air of both authority and concern.
Pushing the door open, Evain stepped into the room and caught her breath. She found her brother, Devereaux, standing before the Coral Princess, flanked by two soldiers. Acropora, the Coral Princess, wielded a gleaming sword in her trembling hand, fear etched upon her face. Devereaux, seemingly unscathed, stood his ground.
The tension in the room was palpable. The Coral Princess swung her sword at Devereaux, her voice quivering as she spat words filled with anger and fear. “Stay away from me, you monster!”
Reacting swiftly, Evain unsheathed her own sword, closing the distance between her and her brother in a few swift strides. With the steadiness of a seasoned warrior, she positioned herself between Devereaux and the Coral Princess, her blade pointed unwaveringly at Acropora.
“Drop the sword, Acropora,” Evain commanded, her voice firm and resolute.
Caught off guard by Evain's sudden arrival and the commanding aura she exuded, Acropora's trembling hand released its grip on the sword. The weapon clattered to the floor, the sound echoing through the room as tension lingered in the air.
With a swift movement of her hand, Evain sheathed her sword, turning her attention to Devereaux, she gazed into his eyes. “You are an insult to our Kingdom,” Evain spat, her voice weighted with the weight of betrayal. “Get dressed and go to training.”
Without a word, Evain picked up Devereaux's training outfit and tossed it to him, her actions conveying her expectation for him to comply. She then retrieved his sword, its weight familiar in her hands, and tossed it to him with a mix of determination and disappointment.
Evain stood before Acropora, she drapes her in a warm blanket around her trembling form. With a protective gesture, Evain motioned for Acropora to follow her down the opulent hallway. As they walked, Acropora couldn't contain her disbelief. She spoke with a mixture of astonishment and venom, “I thought you were the worst of your siblings.”
Evain halted just outside a door at the end of the hall, turning to face Acropora. Her eyes shimmered with a combination of pain and resolve. “Everyone thinks that, until they are left alone with Devereaux,” she replied, her voice laced with bitterness. With a steady hand, Evain knocked on the door, awaiting entry.
The door swung open, revealing Marius cut straight to the point, his tone laced with accusation, “Why are you with Devereaux’s mistress?”
Evain brushed past her brother, leading Acropora into the room. Her very presence seemed to command attention. “I will not allow that to happen to her,” Evain declared boldly. “You are the heir, claim her as yours, and she will be safe from Devereaux.”
Marius's eyes widened as he looked at Evain, his voice quivering with concern. “What did father make you do this time?”
Acropora's voice trembled with a mix of sadness and anger. “He made her kill everyone in my family.”
Marius's eyes filled with concern as he stepped forward, pulling Evain aside. He spoke with a mix of sympathy and caution, his voice tinged with worry, “Sissy, how many times has father used you to kill?”
Evain's gaze fell away from Marius, her face a picture of confliction. Her voice trembled slightly as she admitted, “I will never betray father, I can't, brother. Just keep Acropora safe from Devereaux.” With a final, determined glance, Evain turned and walked towards the door.
Evain, with a concerned furrowed brow, steps out of the grand room and makes her way down the opulent hall. As she walks, her senses alert, Evain catches sight of Devereaux, he is engaged in a heated debate with Arroyo.
Arroyo spots Evain's approach and beckons her forth with a wave of his hand. Intrigued yet apprehensive, Evain steps closer, her eyes meet Arroyo's piercing gaze, a mix of authority and curiosity. He demands, “Where did you take the coral Princess?”
Evain's face fills with a mixture of surprise and concern as she answers, her voice gentle but firm, “Marius has grown fond of her. They are spending time together.”
Arroyo's eyes, cold as the night sky, shift towards his son. A commanding tone slips into his words, “Devereaux, cease your stormy antics and leave us be for a while.”
Devereaux shoots a venomous glare at Evain before turning on his heel and sauntering away, his footsteps echoing the boiling anger that simmers beneath his surface.
Arroyo strolled alongside Evain. As they made their way down the ornate corridor, a solemn air seemed to surround them. Arroyo observed, his voice tender yet concerned, “Evain, you seem off today.”
Evain's eyes flickered with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability. “Why don't you trust me, father?” she asked.
Arroyo's brows furrowed, a hint of surprise mingling with his concern. “You are one of the few people I trust, my dear. Why would you question that?”
The words escaped Evain's lips, laden with a sense of longing, “How come you will not show me what you hide in your sealed office?”
Arroyo's gaze turned guarded, his voice layered with paternal protectiveness. “You are still young, my daughter, too young to bear the weight of such knowledge. In due time, when you are ready, I will reveal the grand plans I have conceived.”
Her determination shining in her eyes. “But father, I am ready. I can handle it now.”
Arroyo sighed, his gaze softening, yet resolute. “Trust me, my dear, the day will come when I deem you ready. For now, focus on your training and embrace the path laid before you. This matter is closed.”
Evain acquiesced. “Yes, father,” she murmured, her steps slow and reluctant. She turned away from him, the weight of unanswered questions burdening her young shoulders, as she made her way to her training class.