Lycus stood on the dimly lit practice ground, his robust frame bathed in the amber glow of overhead lights. His shirt clung to his muscular chest, soaked through with sweat as he pounded relentlessly on the punching bag. With one final, devastating blow, the bag exploded, sand spilling onto the floor like the remnants of his frayed control. His chest rose and fell with heavy, uneven breaths as he stood still for a moment, clenching his fists before running a hand through his wet, tangled hair, pulling it back from his face.
His jaw tightened, a subtle twitch along his cheekbone, and he moved to replace the bag without hesitation. The new one was sturdier, heavier—something that could withstand the force of his pent-up frustration. Every strike echoed like thunder in the vast room, the BAN
