CARISSA’S POV
One night, I stay in the arena to train. Sweat drips down my back as I grip the wooden training stick. My hands are raw and aching from the past few days of relentless training. Arnold has been pushing me harder than ever, and tonight is no different. He’s somewhere watching, observing my every move, ensuring that I don’t falter.
My arms tremble slightly as I strike again and again at the wooden dummy. Each impact sends a dull ache through my bones. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. I know my time isn’t up yet. Arnold’s rules are clear—train until he says stop, until my body screams for mercy.
I close my eyes for a brief moment, allowing my mind to drift despite the burning pain in my muscles. The rhythm of my strikes becomes mechanical. The world around me fades awa
