On the third dawn after the night alarm, Captain Raun unsealed new orders. This time, training would not be about wooden strikes in the yard or laps around the walls—it was a real march. He stood before the trainees and gestured toward a small wagon tied at the camp's gate, loaded with simple supplies.
His voice was dry and sharp:
— "This is not a battle, but it is a trial. You will escort the wagon to Stone Pass, half a day's march. There, we will test your ability to guard and coordinate. Fail, and you are nothing but a burden to those beside you."
He turned to Sergeant Halj:
— "Choose who goes."
Halj selected Kaizlan, Serin, Milo, Toren, and Eiron, assigning each a place around the wagon:
Eiron as scout, twenty paces ahead.
Kaizlan and Serin on the left side.
Toren and Milo on the right.
Sergeant Halj behind the wagon, watching.
And Captain Raun walking at a distance, observing without weighing them down.
The wagon rolled out through the camp gate. The ground was far from smooth; the last rain had left the mud sticky, the grass clinging to their boots. After an hour's march, Eiron halted at a patch of soil and raised his hand. The others gathered to see fresh human tracks branching in three directions.
Milo crouched, touching the edges, and murmured:
— "These are fresh… a day old at most."
Raun studied them briefly before saying:
— "We won't abandon the wagon to chase shadows. Tighten your guard. Move on."
⸻
As they passed between two narrow hills, the right wheel sank deep into soft mire. The driver cried out, pulling hard at the reins:
— "Stop—stop!"
Toren leapt first, wedging his shoulder under the wood. Kaizlan bent to the axle, straining with all his strength. Serin pointed to a nearby trunk:
— "The rope—tie it there!"
Milo shoved the rope into her hands. She fastened it tightly. Kaizlan shouted:
— "On three… one… two…!"
Together they heaved and pulled. The wheel lurched free of the mire. The driver climbed back onto the bench, breathless.
— "Well done… without you, we'd be stuck until the mud dried."
No one replied. They simply returned to their posts in silence—but their steps were steadier now.
⸻
Near dusk, they made camp on a low ridge off the road. Halj lit a small fire and divided the night into guard shifts.
During Milo and Serin's watch, they sat at the ridge's edge, the wagon silent behind them. Milo spoke without lifting his gaze:
— "If you hadn't guided the rope today… the wheel would have broken."
Serin's reply was calm, almost detached:
— "What I did was duty. Nothing more."
Silence followed, broken only by the wind threading through the grass. Then Milo drew out a small wooden charm shaped like a wing and offered it to her.
— "It's not pretty. But it's a reminder that falling doesn't mean the end."
She studied it a moment, then tucked it inside her cloak. She said nothing, but her eyes held enough.
⸻
At dawn, they moved on. The river at Stone Pass was narrow, the stones glistening in the morning light. On the far bank, they found the remains of a cold fire. Raun's voice hardened:
— "Someone passed before us. Do not fear silence—but never trust it."
They crossed cautiously. No arrow flew, no enemy appeared. And yet each of them felt a weight, heavy and unseen, walking at their side.
On the opposite bank, Raun said:
— "This road will be yours more than you know. Today was a trial. Tomorrow may be blood."
None answered. Kaizlan only looked at his companions: Milo clenching his fist by his side, Serin hiding the wing-shaped charm beneath her cloak, Eiron glaring into the trees as though daring a shadow unseen by the rest.
In that moment, Kaizlan realized—the camp was no longer the only world.