Dawn came too early.
I had not slept well—nerves, anticipation, and the lingering ache of muscles still recovering from the trial. When the first grey light seeped through my window, I was already awake, already dressed in my training leathers, already dreading what the day would bring.
Torvin's words echoed in my mind: "I will push you harder than you have ever been pushed." I will break you down and rebuild you.
I had agreed to this. I had chosen this. But as I walked through the cold, empty corridors toward the training grounds, I wondered if I had any idea what I was getting into.
The training yard was a wide, flat space at the base of the fortress, protected from the worst of the wind by high stone walls. When I arrived, Torvin was already there, a dark figure silhouetted against the pale sky. He held a wooden practice sword—not the light, balanced blades of southern training, but a heavy, brutal thing meant to build strength and endurance.
