“Are you even trying?” Your father sighed, now more exasperated than angry.

You would be offended, but truly the only person here to blame was yourself. Your father, Alexander, was a great teacher, you just didn’t understand a thing.

Both of you stood in the sandy training grounds of the castle when the chariot of Apollo dragged the sun to the west, where the sunlight struck the sand and would burn bare feet.

You gripped the sarissa in your sweaty palms.

What was wrong with you?