The private training grounds were tucked behind the castle, a wide, open space surrounded by high stone walls and latticed with creeping vines that tried to soften the severity of the place.
The floor was packed dirt, smoothed flat by years of footsteps, though a few training dummies and wooden posts bore scars from weapons and claws alike.
Ares stood at the center, arms crossed, a broad wall of muscle wrapped in fighting leathers.
The straps clung to him like a second skin, and despite the easy grin tugging at his mouth, his size was more than enough to make me hesitate. He smirked as though he knew it.
Ares wasted no time. "Stretches first. Don't slack."
He moved with surprising agility for someone his size, bending, rolling his shoulders, showing me how it was done with a precision that betrayed years of discipline. I tried to mimic him, but my muscles pulled and complained almost instantly.
