27
Firian
Water closed over Firian’s head. It was late enough that no one else was likely to use the washroom, especially this one in the Head’s secluded hallway. It was the perfect opportunity to practice a skill he hadn’t mastered yet.
Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six… Without water, he was able to hold his breath for two hundred counts. He calmed himself, feeling the warm bathwater lap over the crown of his head. Some of his dark hair must be floating on the surface. This was the closest thing a body of water for him to practice.
His heart slowed. Calm encased his mind. If Bard could do it, so could he. Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two…
All it took was control, above or under the water. The warm, soundless space lent itself to serenity. Ninety-five, ninety-six…
Later, he coul
