The forest air bit into my bare skin like a thousand tiny needles, the snow crunching underfoot as I moved silently between the trees. My breath came in controlled puffs of white, my entire body tensed, senses stretched to their limits.
In my hands, the bow felt like an extension of myself, the arrow nocked and ready.
This is insane.
I cursed inwardly, recalling how I'd somehow agreed to this new version of torture—spending weeks in the freezing wilderness, half-naked, just to "increase my resistance against the cold and improve senses."
Virion's idea of training was less about improvement and more about survival. And even more so about entertainment. He liked to see me suffer.
But it wasn't without benefits either.
In the first week, I'd been shivering so badly I could barely hold the bow. Now?
Now, although I still felt the cold, I could move this much without limiting my capabilities.
Progress, I guess.
