>>Ariston (Past)
I still remember the way the cold bit at my fingertips, the way my breath fogged in the air as I tried to keep the blade steady. My arms ached. My shoulders were on fire. And Rael just stood there, arms folded, watching me like a hawk circling something wounded.
"You're gripping too tight again," he said, voice calm but edged like the sword I was holding. "Loosen up or your wrist'll give out before your opponent does."
I let out a shaky breath and adjusted my hold on the hilt.
We were deep in the forest then, days away from any village, sleeping in half-rotted shelters and hunting whatever we could find. I was maybe ten, maybe eleven. I'd stopped keeping track by then. But Rael—he was solid. Older, sharp-eyed, always knowing where to step, what to say, what not to say.
