Adam's long hair lashed against his face, wind howling in his ears. On the other side of the training grounds, he saw Grimhilde haul her whip back with enough strength to tear ore from the belly of a mountain barehanded. Her other hand touched her left cheek as a grin broadened across her face.
Sadistic, delighted, slightly disappointed, not by his performance. After all, few mages—let alone students—could make her use her full might. No, he knew she wanted more. More clashes, more wounds to deliver, and more time to shatter his confidence as if it were a crystal vase.
But she wasn't too disappointed. He could see it in her eyes—the promise of pain worse than the gash at his hip. It was searing, so painful that it numbed his senses. That was why he didn't feel her whip coil around it. And now, the students' twisted grimaces, the college buildings, even Grimhilde's face, blurred in his vision.
