Daelan's POV
The dull thud of my fists against the reinforced punching bag reverberates through the air, each strike landing with enough force to shatter bones. But the bag barely sways. Not even a tremor.
Good. I need something that won't break under my fists.
I throw another punch, twisting my torso, muscles tightening as the impact sends a satisfying jolt up my arm. My breath is even, controlled. Focused. But no matter how hard I hit, the tension coiled inside me refuses to unwind.
A low whistle cuts through the rhythmic sounds of my training.
I turn my head, stilling my movements. Korin stands at the entrance to the training grounds, arms crossed, a lazy smirk playing at his lips.
"I thought the training grounds we had access to were insane," he remarks, stepping inside. "But this? Your personal training facility? It's on a whole different level."
I roll my shoulders, grabbing a towel from the nearby bench and rubbing it across my face.
