POV: Silver
They say scars tell stories. If that’s true, mine will one day read like a tragedy no one asked for.
The training yard smelled of dust, sweat, and crushed grass. The morning mist still clung to the edges of the fence, ghostly tendrils curling over the wooden rails as if reluctant to let the day begin. All around me, warriors barked orders and clashed in pairs, the thud of bodies meeting the dirt echoing like drums in my chest.
I hated this place.
Not because of the pain—though there was plenty of that—but because it reminded me of how small I was in this world. How easily I could be broken.
I tightened the straps on my sparring gloves, willing my hands not to tremble. My assigned partner for today—Darren—stood a few feet away, stretching his arms with a smirk tugging at hi
