Rastaban didn’t know how long he’d hung from the posts of the fortress walls, arms strained beyond feeling, lashed by the icy wind and driving blizzard snows. He just knew that he replayed Old Master’s angry words over and over again while he hung there, cringing at the disappointment in his teacher’s eyes.
The pale-faces of the north accepted his immortality when Kana came to let him loose, and they seemed uncaring of Kana’s easy magic and Rastaban’s easy gift. They called him Engel, and they called Kana Jente, and after a while, Rastaban answered to his new name.
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