Chapter 64 Everly
Chapter sixty-four
Everly
Iskid to a halt at the edge of the lake, my boots kicking up a spray of loose snow.
The cold wind rushes over the frozen expanse, cutting through my clothes and whipping my hair away from my face.
Surprisingly, the blindfold remains tightly fastened, not slipping an inch despite the chaos so far.
I resist the overwhelming urge to rip it off.
Doing so would mean forfeiting the trial—and losing any chance of gaining the nomads’ help.
Taking a steadying breath, I draw my sword from my belt.
The last thing I want to do is slip on the ice and cut myself.
With cautious steps, I ease onto its slick surface which is treacherously smooth beneath my boots.
My foot slides, and I immediately shift my weight, arms spread wide to maintain balance.
Each step is a calculated gamble, and it takes several agonizing moments to adjust to the slippery terrain.