DEREK
The sun beat down on the Silverclaw training grounds, heat rising off the packed earth in shimmering waves. My breath came hard and fast, my knuckles bloodied and raw. Across from me, Brock was grinning like a damn lunatic, sweat pouring down his bare chest.
“Getting slow, old man,” he taunted, circling.
I snorted. “Keep talking, pup.”
We were shirtless, stripped to the waist, sparring the old-fashioned way—no weapons, no armor, no mercy.
Around us, warriors paused in their drills to watch. Brock lunged, throwing a quick right hook, but I ducked it, came up with a vicious jab to his ribs, followed by a sweeping leg kick that sent him sprawling.
He hit the ground with a grunt, rolled, and came up laughing.
“Still think I’m slow?” I asked, brushing sweat from my brow with the b
