The dismissal was clear. Soren bowed as deeply as his injury allowed, then made his way back to his quarters through the twisting corridors of the Velrane compound. Each step felt like walking through deep water, his body protesting the day's abuse with every movement.
Alone at last, he sank onto the edge of his narrow bed, staring at the bandaged shoulder that represented his failure. Blood had already begun to seep through the white cloth, a spreading stain that matched the one on his pride.
The shard against his chest pulsed cold, Valenna's presence sharpening in his mind. Her voice came like frost forming on glass, clear and cutting.
"Aura," she whispered. "That is the wall. Will you kneel beneath it, or sharpen yourself to break it?"
Soren clenched his bloody hand, feeling the sting of reopened cuts across his palm. "I'll break it," he promised, the words tasting of blood and determination.
