Noah stood in the middle of the dimly lit special training room, his grip tight around the ice spear in his hand.
The sharp cold of the weapon radiated through his fingers, but he barely noticed it anymore.
His movements were fluid and precise as he swung the spear in wide arcs, the weapon cutting through the air with a satisfying hiss.
Each strike, each motion was deliberate, part of a rhythm he'd been honing for hours.
Yet, despite his focus on training, his mind was racing with thoughts that he couldn't shake off.
"Am I really stuck here?" he whispered to himself, the words carried away by the emptiness of the room.
Noah had long come to terms with the fact that he had been dragged into the world of a game, a world he hadn't created but now had to survive in.
However, it wasn't just survival that was on his mind anymore. He was realizing, day by day, that being a bystander in this world wasn't enough.
Not if he wanted to live.
