"What is your purpose for wielding a sword?"
I stared at him. My mind went blank.
Purpose?
Theron's aura pressed down harder on me. My knees wanted to buckle.
"What is your purpose? What's driving you to use a sword?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
...I don't know.
The question hung in the air between us, heavy and waiting.
Purpose.
The word echoed in my head, bouncing around, demanding an answer I didn't have.
Why did I want to wield a sword?
I thought about Earth. About my old life. About the guy who spent years running from everything—expectations, responsibilities, people who cared about him. The guy who let his parents' texts go unanswered, who hid in a small apartment, who told himself it was easier to not try than to try and fail.
That guy didn't have a purpose. He had... excuses.
