That cold determination settled back in, like a solid chunk of ice in my chest.
Seraphina, the Sentinels, the ranks… they were all just noise.
Temporary problems in a much bigger plan.
My mind focused on the one thing that mattered.
The reason I was here.
A flash of amethyst eyes, full of pain and betrayal.
The sound of a bone snapping.
Stay away from me…
The memory wasn't a source of wild, crazy rage anymore.
It was a whetstone.
Cold, hard, and unforgiving.
And on it, I was going to sharpen myself into the blade that would kill a god.
----------
So this was my new room.
What a joke.
It was a box.
A sad, little stone box with a bed that looked like a slab of rock with a blanket thrown on it.
Home sweet home.
Yeah, right.
The Forging Ground, they called it.
More like the Slag Heap, if you ask me.
And I was officially the newest, shiniest piece of slag.
I sat on the edge of the cot.
The silence was heavy.
