The mask was gone now, replaced by a raw, bleeding anger. "Your 'lessons,' Vetra. Your tortures. Do you think I've forgotten them?"
The memories flooded back, unbidden and vivid, washing over him with the force of an avalanche. He was six years old again, standing in a stone chamber that smelled of stagnant water and old blood.
Vetra stood by a massive iron basin filled with slush and jagged chunks of ice. Two guards, their faces impassive behind steel visors, held his small, shivering frame.
"You will learn control, Soren," Vetra's voice echoed in the memory, cold and detached. "Your magic is a wild thing. It must be broken before it breaks you."
He remembered being stripped, the cold air already stinging his skin, before being dragged to the basin. He screamed as they forced him under.
The water wasn't just cold; it was a physical assault, a thousand needles of ice stabbing into his eyes, his ears, his lungs. He tried to thrash, but the guards' hands were iron.
