Veyr
A touch on the shoulder brought Veyr out of his thoughts. He frowned as he turned to face Sylas's golden eyes.
He looked away, and just then, the horn sounded, announcing that the first-year students were about to move into the level.
"You could have come along with us and sent him off," Sylas said as he sat beside him.
"It's not like he is about to die," Veyr responded, the bitterness evident in his tone.
Sylas growled at him. "Don't say such things. I know you are mad at him, but this is a test that happened suddenly, and you know how crazy it is in there. Let's not talk about death now."
Veyr groaned and clenched his fists tightly. He wasn't in the mood to speak with Sylas, but what he had said was true.
Ten students from the second year had died on the battlefield, and he would never wish that to happen to Ryn, no matter what he was feeling, but he didn't regret not going to Ryn.
This was how he had decided to cope, and he didn't hate himself for staying behind.
