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... the cold floor of the training hall, his body a mosaic of bruises and broken bones.

Each breath he took was shallow, labored, and laced with pain, but his spirit refused to yield.

CRACK.

Jaxar's fist collided with his ribs again, the sound echoing in the large hall.

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The pain was excruciating, but something deeper within Caspian stirred—a primal instinct, dormant and buried beneath years of suffering.

Jaxar smirked.

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