"Again!" Minister Samuel roared as I stood before him, a wooden sword in hand. "How many times do I have to tell you that you should keep your thumb away from the hilt?"
Tendrils of sweat rolled off my face, soaking my tank top up. It was hot in Tel Aviv. Unlike the other parts of the Sanctum, the training room was not fitted with an air-conditioning system. We had been practicing swords for just over an hour, yet here I was, feeling already parched and dried as a raisin. "I'm sorry, Minister."
He scoffed and turned his back unto me, walking a few paces away. "Your sorry will not save your life in battle, Kaylene," he declared, spinning on his heels to face me again. The Minister took a stance, drawing his wooden sword to the side. "You should aways be on guard if you want to survive. If
