Ravyn was in the middle of another exclusive training session, pushing himself to his limit once more. The training grounds stretched before him, empty and silent, bathed in the pale silver light of the moon.
Sweat dripped from his brow, tracing rivulets down his temples, his jaw, his neck. His muscles burned with the familiar ache of exertion, a pain he had come to crave, to depend on.
The other warriors had long since retired to their homes, their laughter and chatter fading into the night, but Ravyn couldn't stop. Sleep brought nightmares of continuous regret.
Silence brought painful memories. Only the pain of training could quiet his mind, could drown out the whispers of everything he had lost.
His fists pounded against the training dummy, each strike precise, controlled, devastating. The leather cracked under the assault, sand trickling from the seams.
