The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a pale light across the camp.
Faint beams broke through the mist. Warming the tips of the tents and setting the iron-tipped spears around the training field aglow with a soft golden sheen.
The air was crisp and cold. But the battlefield had long since taught them to ignore discomfort.
One month had passed since they were thrown into the dungeon.
In that time, death had become a daily sight. Pain, a constant teacher. But so had growth.
Kyle stood on the cracked training ground with Serena across from him. Lightning crackled faintly between them. Humming low in the quiet morning air.
Sweat beaded on their brows, their chests rising and falling with steady breaths. This wasn't a real fight. Just a spar.
Serena narrowed her eyes and sent a quick bolt of electricity darting toward Kyle.
He reacted without thinking.
A simple movement. His hand raised, a slight twist of his wrist. And the bolt fizzled out midair.
