They returned at sunrise, their steps heavy from the road, yet their faces no longer the same as when they had left. There had been no battle and no blood along the march, but for the first time they had felt the weight of responsibility—an invisible burden pressing on the shoulders.
At the camp gate, the other trainees were lined up as if awaiting a company's return from war. Sergeant Halj raised his hand and ordered them into the training yard.
Captain Raun stood before them, his voice striking like iron:
— "Today was not a trial of your swords, but of your endurance. Without endurance, nothing remains."
He turned to Kaizlan and his five companions.
— "Step forward."
They stood in a line, mud still clinging to their boots. Raun's sharp gaze measured each of them in turn:
Eiron: "Your sharp sense ahead spared the wagon from following an unknown trail. But you focus too far forward and neglect your flanks. An eye that never glances back will be taken from behind."
Toren: "You leapt first to lift the wagon, and that counts for you. But strength without order is not enough. You nearly cracked the axle had the others not steadied you."
Milo: "Your arms are weak, but your hands are the quickest in tying knots. Do not scorn what you do. A strong rope shields necks from the fall."
Serin: "Your commands, given at the right moment, spared the wagon from a long delay. But do not let trust in your own instinct close your ears to the counsel of others."
Kaizlan: "Your strength was clear, yet you were neither leader nor follower. You stand between the two. One day you will decide which you are. Until then, hesitation weighs down your steps."
Silence hung heavy. The trainees around them listened closely. Then Raun spoke once more:
— "You will rest today, and tomorrow training resumes. Remember this: today it was a wagon. Next time, it may be a man bleeding before you."
The assembly dispersed. The five sat apart near their tents, eyes avoiding each other. None wished to admit they had learned something, but each of them knew Raun's words had sunk deep.
⸻
That evening, while eating cold rations by the firelight, whispers from older soldiers reached their ears. One said:
— "A trader from the border told me the Empires of Astoval and Carmin met in secret last month. They speak of a new alliance."
Another scoffed:
— "Alliances are like clouds—you see them from afar, heavy with rain, but when you draw close, they scatter into wind."
Kaizlan leaned toward Milo and murmured:
— "Astoval and Carmin? Those aren't near our lands…"
Milo answered while tearing his bread:
— "If it's true, its reach will find us still. Soldiers are the last to be asked, but the first to be sacrificed."
No one added a word. The fire flickered before them, and the wind carried faint echoes of horns from afar—uncertain whether they belonged to drills… or a warning of something greater to come.
⸻
✨ Author's Note to Readers
If you've enjoyed the journey so far, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the first 35 chapters! Your feedback in the comments will help shape the path ahead. Every opinion, small or big, is valuable—so let me know what stood out to you most.