A Throne Forged by Shadows - Aaric Graycastle

It's been two days since my fight with Roark.

Pain is manageable.

That's what I tell myself as I force my body through another drill, ignoring the way my ribs scream in protest.

Pain is temporary.

It's irrelevant.

I've fought through worse. I've survived worse.

And I refuse to let this slow me down.

"Again," Aaric orders.

I clench my jaw, resetting my stance.

The sparring gym is empty, save for the two of us—just like it's been since sunrise, when I showed up, just like his note had told me to.

In the sparring gym at 5:30 every morning. I hadn't asked questions. Hadn't argued.

Because despite every bone-deep ache, despite the way my body still hasn't fully recovered from my fight with Roark, I need this.

I need to prove that I can still fight. That I can still win.

Even if my ribs feel like they're about to snap apart all over again.

I lunge forward, ignoring the blinding pain that flares through my side as I throw a punch toward Aaric's ribs.

He sidesteps it easily.

Too easily.

Then he knocks my arm aside with a sharp movement, his fingers clamping around my wrist for half a second before he lets go.

"Sloppy," he mutters.

Frustration flares hot in my chest.

I exhale hard through my nose, hating that he's right.

"Again."

I move before I can think.

This time, I feint left before twisting, barely managing to land a hit against his ribs.

It's weak. Slower than it should be.

Aaric exhales sharply, eyes darkening.

"Better," he says. But he's not satisfied.

I brace myself for his next words.

"Again."

And again.

And again.

Thirty minutes go by and everything hurts.

I can barely see straight.

Each hit I throw is weaker than the last, each block slower, more desperate. But Aaric doesn't ease up. He circles me like a shadow, eyes narrowed, movements controlled.

I lunge again, trying a low sweep he drilled into me days ago—but I miss. My foot drags too slow across the mat, and he catches me mid-motion, spinning me off balance. My ribs scream, but I grit my teeth and pull back to my feet.

"Again," he says, and this time there's something sharp in his tone.

I glare at him. "You know I can't do this right now."

"You can," he says flatly. "You just won't."

That hits harder than any blow he's landed. "I'm trying—"

"No," he cuts me off. "You're repeating the same mistake over and over and expecting it to work. You think effort counts for anything out there? If Roark comes at you again, you think he'll care that you're trying?"