Jaxon gripped the hilt of the training sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He lunged forward, his movements sharp and unrelenting as he struck at the wooden dummy in front of him. The resounding thwack echoed across the palace training ground, causing a few heads to turn. Sweat dripped from his brow, streaking his face, but he didn't slow down.
The others who had come to train found themselves pausing mid-spar, their focus drifting to Jaxon. He was relentless, his strikes precise yet full of barely contained aggression. They exchanged murmurs, wondering what had him so worked up.
Jaxon, oblivious to their stares, shifted his stance and swung the blade again, harder this time, as if the dummy had personally wronged him. His muscles burned, his arms ached, but his mind refused to relent.
Orion.
