The Camp – A New Dawn
At the sound of the horn, the trainees lined up with weary faces and heavy bodies. Two and a half months had passed since they first set foot inside the camp—months of iron, blood, and nights that swallowed their dreams whole. Many had arrived expecting ordinary drills, but now they stood as half-formed soldiers, bound more by fear than by hope.
Commander Raon stepped forward with steady strides, a detachment of soldiers at his back. His eyes swept over the faces he had come to know one by one. His voice rang out, sharp and unyielding:
— "Today you leave the boundaries of this camp. From this moment, you are part of the new year—Year of the Emperor 412. In this year, it will be remembered who endured… and who fell. The valley is your final trial, and there your reckoning begins."
The line went silent. A few gasps escaped when they heard the number, as if it were a brand etched into their flesh.
Kaizlan bit down on the strap around his wrist, the thought echoing in his mind: Will my name be among those who endured… or those who fell?
The Journey Toward the Valley
They set out as the sun rose. Horses pulled carts heavy with provisions, while soldiers marched in rhythm along both flanks. Pines rose tall on either side, their damp scent thickening the air.
Milo rode beside Kaizlan, his hand never leaving the strap across his chest.
— "Two and a half months, Kaizlan… I don't feel like the same person who walked into that gate."
Behind them, Toren carried his wooden sword on his shoulder with a crooked smile.
— "I feel more alive than ever."
Elda, whispering to herself, counted the hooves of her horse:
— "One… two… three… ten…"
Sirin cut her short with a steady look.
— "The enemy won't count your steps. They'll count your blood."
The Valley Draws Near
The land began to change as they approached. The road narrowed into a twisting serpent between low hills, the trees grew dense enough to choke the light. The birds had vanished; only the crunch of leaves underfoot remained.
One soldier muttered, eyes darting into the thickets:
— "This place could hide an entire army."
Raon answered without turning his head:
— "That's what makes it perfect. Learn this well—danger does not shout before it kills."
The Halt
At the mouth of the valley, Raon raised his hand and ordered a halt. Soldiers planted small banners on the ridge overlooking the entrance. He spread a map across a wooden crate and pointed with a gloved finger.
— "Here begins the third stage. One team will defend, the other will attack. The sun will set before this trial ends… and some of you will not see it rise again."
The air thickened, pressing down on every chest. This was no longer training. It was a battle in miniature, a glimpse of the war that awaited them beyond these walls.
The sun climbed toward its zenith, shadows creeping slowly into the valley.
By the day's end, blood would be the first to christen the soil of Year 412.