Moments later,
Blackwood Spire,
Aria
The sharp, metallic tang of cold iron grease hit the back of my tongue the moment I opened the door to the subterranean training ring.
I did not want to witness another useless display of masculine pride. My mind was still processing the neon system alert about the primary player in the capital, but the heavy thud of a battleaxe embedding itself into a wooden target cut through my thoughts.
Ragnar Holt stood in the center of the concrete floor, his massive hands gripping the shaft of his weapon. The heavy armor he wore creaked as he ripped the blade from the splintered wood. Around the perimeter of the ring, Leo, Bram, and the Nocturne twins watched in total silence.
"Again," Ragnar barked, his voice echoing off the reinforced walls. He did not
