Pain was the foundation of growth. Cassian had learned that within the first month of his training.
The Pit had nearly killed him, but his master had saved him, dragging his broken body from the jaws of death. Cassian had expected pity. He received none. Instead, his master gave him fire, forged him in discipline, and struck him down each time he thought himself strong.
Three years had passed since that night. Three years of endless battle under the shadow of the mountains.
Cassian wiped blood from his mouth, panting as he pushed himself off the scorched ground. His master stood before him, arms folded, unimpressed.
"You're still hesitating."
Cassian clenched his fists, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. "I'm not."
His master's foot slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling across the training ground. He hit the earth hard, coughing. Dust and embers swirled around him.
Liar.
He was hesitating.
Not because he was weak, but because something inside him refused to obey. The power his master was trying to awaken—it burned through his veins, yet something inside him resisted.
"You fear it," his master said, stepping closer. His voice was not cruel, not mocking—simply stating the truth. "You want control, yet you refuse to embrace what is already within you."
Cassian pushed himself up, his body aching. "And if I do?"
His master held out his hand, and for a moment, the world itself seemed to bend. Power crackled in the air, unseen but felt. It burned, seared into Cassian's bones.
"Then you become what you were meant to be."
Cassian exhaled, steadying his stance. The whispers had never left him—not since the Pit, not since he first picked up the dagger his master had dismissed as a relic of the past.
Rise, Veilborn.
He had risen once.
He would rise again.
And when he did—Vordania would burn.