Shadows danced across the prison cell as master and student prepared. Outside, the storm raged, its thunder echoing like a drumbeat heralding the battles to come.
Meanwhile, in his throne room, Morgan Tarek sat regally, golden crown gleaming in the flickering light. His voice was calm but carried the weight of authority.
"When is Ashveil Kenny arriving?" he asked.
A man bowed, replying, "He should be here in a day or two, Your Majesty."
Morgan let out a deep sigh, his eyes narrowing. "Very well. I will wait."
Back in the prison, Orimo stood in the dim shadows, bandages barely covering his injuries. The old man circled him, a bat in hand.
"Close your eyes," the mentor instructed.
Obediently, Orimo shut them, feeling the chill of the damp cell around him. The old man raised the bat high and brought it down with a crack.
The bat struck Orimo's head squarely, sending a sharp shock through his skull.
"That hurts," Orimo muttered through clenched teeth.
"Yes," the old man replied, voice steady and unwavering. "That is why you will learn to dodge. Today, and every day after, we train until your body and instincts are one."
The storm outside roared louder, thunder rattling the stone walls. Each strike, each pain, was forging Orimo into something sharper, faster, and deadlier — ready for the battles looming on the horizon.