We trained nonstop for five, maybe six hours. The intensity never dropped.
Steve wasn't bleeding, but I'd turned most of his body red from all the hits. The wind blades left marks—even if they didn't cut, they stung like hell. He didn't complain though. Just kept trying.
He was improving. Slowly, yeah, but definitely improving. He could dodge two or three blades in a row now if I kept the timing steady. After that, his body lagged just a bit behind the motion. Still, that was real progress.
Eventually, we took a break. Just sat down against the cold wall, breathing in silence.
Then I felt it.
Someone was coming. Four people, this time. Their steps were quiet, but my perception picked them up easily. I leaned toward Steve and whispered, "They're back."
We got up and stood ready.
The steps came and stopped outside our cell, and our host strolled in again—King. This time, he wasn't alone. Two of the goons from before flanked him, and with them came a tall woman.
