Page 108 of Bound to the Dreadlord

But it doesn’t work because he lets me.

The realization burns through me like ice. I stare at the blade in my hands, its weight foreign, its purpose undeniable.

He steps into my space and into the blade now pointed at his own chest.

A test.

A challenge.

He dares me.

The moment stretches, unbearable, until he finally smirks.

"You will start at dawn."

I lower the blade. My grip is firm. Unshaking. "I’ll be ready."

His smirk widens. "No, you won’t."

Once again, silence ensues between us. Twenty minutes later, after passing a rocky area, we arrived in front of a ruined fortress.

“This place will do,” he tells me. “Follow me.”

Dawn arrives too soon.

The training ground is nothing more than a stretch of uneven stone, the air thin and sharp, the wind howling like a wounded beast. The world is painted in hues of silver and frost, the early light casting shadows that stretch long and unforgiving.

Veylan stands before me, his stance relaxed in the way only a true predator can be. And he was right. I am not ready.

"You will fight," he says simply.

I nod.

"You will bleed."

I swallow hard.

"You will lose."

He says it like a promise. Like a certainty.

I lift the dagger he gave me the night before, its weight heavier now. He does not give me time to hesitate.

He moves.

I react too slowly.

The next thing I know, the ground is rushing up to meet me. Pain explodes through my back as I slam into the cold stone, my breath ripped from my lungs.

He strikes again before I can even recover.

I block. Deflect. Try to mimic the way I have seen him move. I fail.

A twist. A sharp pull. My weapon is gone.

His boot presses against my chest, pinning me down. "Dead," he murmurs.

I grit my teeth.

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