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Chapter 162: The Shape of the World (3)
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... ng or a church nave, not over a line of half-awake initiates in blue. Soren watched steam curl from his lips with every breath, a portable cloud of his own to add to the morning’s bleak offering.
Two weeks in, and already he saw the tricks fatigue played: the horizon shrank, the stone underfoot got meaner, and every correction from the Swordmaster’s mouth scored a little deeper.
Dawn muster on the upper courtyard: Hands on hilt, toes to the line, eyes nailed forward into the next ...
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