Ren descended slower than he had risen, each hold a reminder that falling here meant stone, not padded floors. When his boots finally touched earth, his palms were torn and bleeding. Daevar only glanced at them once.
"Pain's a ledger," the old soldier muttered. "It shows you where you've spent yourself. Keep your accounts balanced, boy."
Ren wiped the blood against his trousers. His chest still heaved, but the silence that followed wasn't dismissal. Daevar jerked his chin eastward, toward the hills where broken towers jutted out like ribs.
"You think you're the only one?" he asked. "There are others. Teams that run outside these walls. They've been climbing cliffs sharper than this one for years. While you were breathing chamber air, they bled on real ground."
Ren blinked, the words sinking heavier than the climb. "Teams?"
