Midnight dragged its fingers across the stones of House Velrane, but Soren's eagerness wouldn't let him sleep.
He slipped from his cot, careful to avoid the creaking floorboard by Dane's bunk. The other recruits were lost to dreams or nightmares, their breathing creating a symphony of snores and sighs in the darkened barracks.
None stirred as he retrieved his practice sword from beneath his bed, the wooden blade a poor substitute for steel but all he was permitted to carry.
His body protested each movement. Kaelor's "special training" had left his muscles screaming, his joints stiff, his skin a canvas of purple-black bruises layered atop fading yellow ones. Days of punishment remained, each promising fresh torment. Yet here he was, seeking more pain in the dead of night.
'Stupid,' he thought, easing the door open just enough to slip through. 'Kaelor will kill you tomorrow if you're too exhausted to stand.'
