By the time dawn broke, the never-ending cycle of training started afresh, day after day, round after round. The girls' bodies, now adorned with bruises and calluses, told of the relentless demands that were made upon them. Their hands, once so soft and untested, wrapped firm around the hilts of their swords as their arms wrenched at each swing. Their strength had grown born from pain, but so, too, their resolve.
Umbra stood close by, his presence a constant reminder of their task at hand. There was no comfort in his eyes, no leniency in his methods. His expectations were unbending, and mercy was a concept utterly foreign to him. Bruises and injuries were left to heal on their own—or not. Each mark that covered their bodies told of his philosophy that strength was forged only through suffering.
