Theron stood in the middle of a field of destruction, his breathing heavy. Blood ran down his body in streaming rivers, dribbling to the ground in a cadence that matched the heavy falling rain.
He exhaled another heavy breath, steaming fog painting the air before his face.
Quasi Gold.
He could feel the new power coursing through his veins, but the pain in his body, the aching cries of his Meridians, the slow movement of his Water Mana, painted a completely different picture.
His gaze shifted down from the skies, looking at the short sword in his palm. It glowed, a transparent blue rippling through the darkness. It almost felt heavy in his hand.
He was tired.
It was rare he had such a thought. But when you had laid out everything so perfectly, only for things to still go wrong, it was only human to be frustrated. It seemed that he still had room to grow.
How long was it now before his 15th birthday? Had it passed already, maybe?
No… not quite yet.
