The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Chapter 138: Drill Sergeant Azrala

I could feel the newfound strength surging inside me, but strangely, it somehow felt... normal, like it had always been there waiting for me. Unlike before, I didn’t have to struggle to summon it it was just simmering steadily beneath my skin, ready to burst out whenever I wanted.

"Yup," my beast growled approvingly from the dark corners of my mind.

"Well, thanks for the info," I said mentally, smirking at the internal voices.

"No problem," she teased back with a mockingly sweet, purring tone.

Zaliver finally released my hand, his face turning completely serious as he stepped back.

"All right. Time to get started. And judging by how you’re looking right now, starvation is hitting you hard," he joked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Hey!" I protested indignantly, pressing a hand to my growling stomach.

For the next three brutal hours, Zaliver put me through the wringer. He taught me how to carefully control my senses like focusing my heightened sense of smell without completely drowning in every single scent within a five-mile radius, how to hold back my raw strength when the world around me felt fragile like eggshells (which was vastly harder than I ever imagined), and how to lock my vision on what actually mattered while tuning out endless background distractions.

Along the way, I discovered three very important things about Zaliver: First, he was insanely good at pushing me past my limits. Second, he had a uncanny radar for when I was faking understanding just to get a break. And third, he was that kind of teacher.

"Zaliver, I swear " I gritted through my tightly clenched teeth.

"It’s Mr. Azrala!" he interrupted, his voice suddenly becoming playfully strict. I hadn’t realized he could sound like that, and I have to admit, it was kind of... terribly distracting. If only the situation wasn’t so damn exhausting.

"Mr. Asshaha," I shot back, mocking his authoritative tone while ignoring his loud, not-so-playful growl of warning.

I was currently hanging high from a metal pull-up bar in the home gym, gripping it for dear life while fighting the desperate urge to just let go and fall. I had no clue how high up I was suspended, and I sure didn’t want to find out the hard way by smashing into the floor.

"Get me down from here! How is hanging on this stupid bar helping at all?" I yelled, my palms sweating and slowly sliding over the smooth metal.

"That’s because you’re not supposed to just hang there, Vivian. You’re meant to pull yourself up to the top," he said, his voice sounding clipped and tense from below.

Pull myself up? To the top of what? The damn rainbow?

He probably didn’t notice my absolute disbelief, but I sure couldn’t picture myself doing that right now. What made him think I even wanted to try?