As Damien recovered slowly his training also increased.
The infirmary had long since turned into Damien's personal training ground.
Initially, the nurses had forbidden him from any strenuous activity. His body needed to rest, they said. His blood channels had been overstrained, they warned. Even Jason and Sara had told him to take it easy.
They even took his Zhamandao from him.
That lasted exactly one day.
By the second morning, the rhythmic swish of a blade cutting through air could be heard from his bed.
Damien, still wrapped in bandages and barely able to sit upright, had fashioned a makeshift wooden sword out of a spare crutch and was practicing his Sword Draw technique with sluggish but precise movements.
"…What the hell are you doing?" Jason asked, standing at the doorway with Aylen, who had come to check on Damien out of morbid curiosity.
"Training," Damien replied, not missing a beat as he weakly raised the wooden crutch and swung it down again.
