Closing his eyes for a moment, Hargon completely surrenders to the void. The cheerful crackle of the flames fades, the howling of the storm outside the window, the echo of patrols' footsteps in the empty corridors, his own erratic breathing, the stifled heartbeat in his chest. He opens his eyes again with the first rays of the rising sun, habitually feeling neither blissful rest nor sleepy fatigue.
Soon, the Voidwalker is ready to head to his early training.
-- That's how it is. I raised a problem for myself – I might even lose to you. It seems that if you put in the effort, you can turn even the last drunkard into a fighter, but for some reason, no more than one person wants to learn every half month.
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers