Darius paced the training hall with his hands clasped behind his back, the heavy thuds of struggling students echoing like music to his ears. Boulders strained shoulders and bent spines. Palms shook, knees trembled, and sweat began to drop onto the cold stone floor beneath them. There were twenty students in all, each one locked in their personal hell.
And Darius enjoyed every second of it.
He didn't bother hiding the crooked smirk that tugged at his lips. To him, this was justice. This was where knights were truly forged—not through written exams or theory lessons, but in the agony of muscles pushed to the brink and beyond.
A girl near the corner collapsed to her knees, trying to hide her pain behind clenched teeth. A boy near the front grit his jaw so hard it looked like his teeth might shatter.
'Beautiful,' Darius thought. 'Just beautiful.'
But then—his eyes drifted to the back of the formation.
There stood two figures, unmoved and unshaken.
Liam and Asher.
