Yara had spent the morning with Ignita, cautiously navigating their interactions. She had kept her words respectful and her actions compliant, all the while observing and learning. Ignita seemed kind, but Yara couldn't let herself trust too easily. Every moment was an opportunity to gather information and understand the dynamics of the Armada.
When Basilisk's howl echoed across the territory, summoning her to the beach, Yara felt a mix of anxiety and determination. This was the beginning of her training, a chance to prove her worth and learn the skills she needed. She made her way down to the Armada beach, the black sand warm beneath her paws. The sight of the training rings, washed clean by the tide, filled her with a sense of purpose.
As she approached Basilisk, she kept her head low in a show of respect, but her eyes were sharp and attentive. "Warlord," she greeted him, her voice steady. She stood ready, the fire within her burning bright. This was the first step towards regaining her freedom, and she intended to make the most of it.
