The clang of steel rang dully in the cold morning air. The training yard, once a place of power and pride, felt thin and brittle, its energy fraying like old rope. Frost clung to the wooden beams of the sparring ring, glistening dimly in the pale dawn light. Kilian stood at the edge, arms folded across his chest, shoulders squared, watching every movement with a hawk’s eye.What he saw made his wolf bristle.Two of the younger warriors sparred, their footwork sluggish, strikes half-hearted. When one lunged forward, the blow missed by a full hand-span, leaving him wide open. The other should have taken the opportunity, but his reaction was too slow. He stumbled back, chest heaving as though he’d fought for hours instead of minutes.Kilian’s jaw tightened. “Again.” His voice was low, but it carried weight. The word was enough to still the yard.The warriors exchanged a look, sweat already plastering their hair to their foreheads. Still, they obeyed. One shifted mid-stride—bones cracking
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