10
Firian
The more Firian’s arms shook, the more the water in the buckets rippled. He tried to tighten his core, his chest, anything to take the pressure off his arms as he held them straight out.
Master Jovan watched impassively.
Firian huffed out a breath, fighting the urge to glare at him. At least this was physical pain, not mental pain. This was only the second day without the Unreal and he felt parched, like a man dying of thirst. He could do anything there, in that semi-actual imaginary space. Here, he was too weak.
He rolled his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the wooden handle. Mind over body. Like falling down a slide, his mind descended to the comfort of the Unreal. He could endure so much more that way.
Red pain exploded behind his eyes. Yelling, he vaguely heard water
