Page 45 of Savage Crown

But no matter how far I go, I still feel him.

Rylan.

His presence lingers in the stone, in the air, in the way the torches burn lower, softer, like they know what he’s done.

What we did.

I swallow hard, forcing the memory down.

This isn’t real.

None of it is.

He is still a dark elf.

He is still my master.

And I am still just a pawn in his games.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

I exhale, pushing forward, trying to banish the feeling in my chest.

The feeling that whispers—Liar.

I don’t realize where my feet have taken me until I reach the training room.

It’s empty at this hour, dark save for the soft glow of enchanted torches lining the walls. Weapons gleam from the racks, waiting, watching.

Good.

I need something to hit.

I cross the room, grabbing a blade from the wall—a simple dagger, the weight familiar, solid.

I need to move.

I start with slow, careful motions. A drill. The kind I learned when I was young, back when I still had something to fight for.

I twist. Pivot. Strike.

The blade slices the air, sharp, perfect.

Again.

Faster.

Harder.

I move until my muscles burn, until my breath comes in sharp gasps, until the ghosts in my head shrink beneath the rhythm of steel and sweat.

I fight until the only thing left is me.

But even then—he is still there.

Lurking in the back of my mind.

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