After one month of living at the training camp and partaking in Vox's grueling training regimen, Marix was summoned to the palace.
There the king sat in his throne as he always did when summoning Marix, who stood a bit aways from the stairs, in the center of the room.
Marix held his hands behind his back as he gave a small bow.
"Father." He greeted, his tone flat.
The king's face looked to have aged a few years, his jaw tight and his eyes narrowing at Marix.
"Have you learned your lesson yet." His father's tone was pointed yet simultaneously reeked of desperation. In fact, it sounded less like a question and more like a pleading demand.
Marix stood tall, his chest jutted out with confidence as he cocked one eyebrow up.
"Yes. I have."
His father let out a sigh, "And what is it you learned?"
Marix shifted his weight and cocked his head to one side, "To follow orders, of course."
"You've learned it properly, right?"
