The mountain air cut like glass.
Ren pulled the cloak tighter, but it was a useless gesture. The fabric was thin, deliberately so. Daevar had stripped him of comforts before they left the fortress, tossing aside even the insulated lining. "Training," the man had said. Which meant cruelty with purpose.
They had marched for hours, up into the ridges where snow gathered in broken drifts. Ren's boots were soaked, toes numb, yet Daevar showed no sign of fatigue. The man walked with the same steady rhythm, staff slung casually across his shoulder, as if the mountain path bent for him.
"Your body is already screaming," Daevar's voice rumbled, not unkind but merciless. "Good. Let it scream louder. You will learn to walk while pain rides your back."
Ren did not answer. Breath came in harsh clouds, throat burning. His legs threatened mutiny, but he forced them forward. The thought of collapsing here, in front of Daevar's steady eyes, was worse than the frost biting into his bones.
