Caerth remained silent for a moment, observing Damon with that analytical, impassive gaze that seemed to pierce skin and read bone. The wind sliced through the courtyard like an invisible blade, and the distant sound of the trees rustling added to the sense of emptiness that pervaded the place. The veteran took a step forward, stopping a few feet from Damon.
"Get up," he ordered.
Damon, still panting, obeyed. His body ached as if beaten, and every muscle seemed to protest.
"Tomorrow," Caerth continued, "you will leave this useless armor and this ego at home. Come dressed in something light. Nothing that makes you believe you are invincible."
"And why?" Damon asked, wiping the sweat from his face.
"Because the wood will show you that you are just a man," the veteran replied, turning his back. "And until you accept that, you will never be a warrior."
Damon stood there for a moment, unsure if this was a lesson or a provocation. Perhaps it was both.
