The sun was beginning to set slowly, painting the sky in golden and orange hues. The training center courtyard was almost empty now, except for a few instructors collecting weapons and sweeping the dry dust from the ground. Damon remained there, standing, feeling the weight of the sword still in his hand, the distant echo of the combat reverberating in his mind.
The cold of the blade had disappeared, but the memory of the ice was still present—as if something inside him remained frozen.
Renn approached, wiping his sweaty face with his forearm.
"You really are something else," he said, trying to sound casual, but the nervousness betrayed his admiration. "That thing you did... the ice... that was mana, wasn't it?"
Damon glanced sideways, not answering immediately. "Something like that."
Renn chuckled awkwardly. "Something like that? If I could do that, I'd be showing it off to the whole city."
"Then you'd die before you reached the wall," Damon replied dryly.
