Damon stood on a rocky slope overlooking a vast plain, where deep trenches cut through the earth and broken pillars rose from the sand.
He swept his gaze across the landscape. Some of those trenches continued all the way to the horizon, their edges melted into dark glass. He was beginning to suspect that La Rocha's description of the god's training grounds had been a little understated.
At the center of the plain stood a man holding a spear.
He wore loose gray trousers and nothing above the waist, leaving a broad chest covered in pale scars exposed to the wind. His dark hair was tied behind his head, and the weapon in his hands looked almost ordinary, with a wooden shaft and a narrow silver blade.
Damon might have mistaken him for a mortal practicing alone if not for the hunger stirring violently inside his body. There was no doubt about it. This man in front of him was a God!
The man completed a slow thrust, drew the spear back, and turned toward him.
"You can come down."
