“If you can’t keep up,” he roared, his tone sharp as steel, “drop out instantly! I don’t have time to train the weak.”
Aklan’s voice cracked across the field like a whip.
The training ground was a battlefield of its own, the air thick with the scent of sweat and churned dirt.
My two days in the healing centre had flown by, and now, standing here under the blazing morning sun, I found myself missing the sterile warmth of that hospital bed.
My muscles still ached, a dull reminder of my collapse, but I forced myself to stand straighter, to hide the weakness that clung to me like a shadow. Out on the training ground, there was no rest, only pain.
His words stung, but they weren’t the worst part. The drills he had us doing were torture—sandbag lifts, sprints, and combat forms that felt l
